Becoming Something More Original
by Soxman
Summary: Another simple change to the world of Harry Potter, and once again, it's universe spins off its axis. Armed with Voldemort's memories, Harry's destiny has suddenly become much more complicated. This fanfic is being revised.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Two of the greatest Fanfics I've read, Partially Kissed Hero by Perfect Lionheart and The Lie I've Lived, by Jbern, inspired me to write this. This is an AU story, with everything the same as in the canon except for one change. This one change in my story is that the trio found an unoccupied compartment before getting to Lupin's compartment and the effect it would have on the rest of the series (theoretically). The beginning of my story is paraphrased from Prisoner of Azkaban. I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not profiting from this story. Those cursed words- mone-shot, for now.

Turning the Tide

Chapter One: The Kiss of Death

_"There's something moving out there," Said Ron. "I think people are coming aboard..." - pg. 82 of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._

Harry could only barely make out a cloaked figure towering to the ceiling as it entered their compartment. The lights had been off for a good ten minutes, and Ginny and Neville had come into their compartment in search of news as to what was going on. Harry saw that the face of the cloaked figure was hidden beneath its long black hood. His eyes darted downward, and to his horror, there was a grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed hand, looking like something dead that had decayed in water…

It must have sensed Harry's gaze, because the figure pulled the hand back into its black cloak. And then the thing beneath the hood drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as if it were trying to suck the air and more from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest as the cold went deeper than skin, burrowing inside his chest, inside his very heart…

Harry's eyes rolled up into his head and he couldn't see. He felt like he was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears like the sound of water and he was being dragged downwards, the roaring of the water growing louder…

And then from far way, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams.

_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you foolish girl… stand aside now…"_

_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"_

_"Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy!" (pg. 179 of POA)_

The dementor, sensing a meal, towered over him. It drew back its hood, and pressed it's cold, clammy, scaly, rotted face to Harry's. And he knew no more.

* * *

"There's no hope of recovery, Albus. For Merlin's sake, he's been kissed!" a voice was saying. _A little hysterical; sounded like Pomphrey._ _Merlin, I feel great. Though my shoulder is a little sore._

"We must continue to hope, Poppy; for his sake and for ours." An older, more genial voice said. _Dumbledore- always playing the wise old man; even when he's actually being a manipulative bastard. Wait- manipulative old bastard? What am I saying? He's a wise old man who's always been there for me. Except with the Philosopher's stone, the Chamber of Secrets, that dementor, the troll, and the Dursleys. Alright, fine; manipulative old bastard._

"I'm- I'm afraid I must agree, Albus," a strained and emotional voice said. _McGonagall? She's never been emotional._ _What on Earth has happened? And why am I lying in bed?_ "It seems, we've failed him for the last time." And she broke down in sobs.

_Better see if I can offer any assistance_. Harry got up and threw off the covers. "Who have you failed?" he asked curiously. _Wow, there are a lot of people. There's Snape, and Flitwick, and McGonagall, and some old dude with a moustache I don't know, and Sprout. Oh, and the headmaster, and Hermoine, Ron, actually all the Weasleys, and- is that Fudge?_ _And all of them are staring at me, like they've never seen me before. Great._ He looked down at his clothes. Hospital wing get-up. "Okay what's happened to me now?" They continued to stare at him in shock. "I'm in the hospital wing, aren't I. So what injury or ailment has befallen me now?" They continued to stare. "Do I have something on my face?"

"HARRY?" a chorus of voices rang out and suddenly a ball of bushy, brown hair obstructed his view. _I don't think Hermione's ever hugged me this tightly before. I must have gotten into some serious shit this time. _

"Okay, what's happened this time? Seriously, all I remember was a dementor," he said to the room.

"Have you ever heard of the dementor's kiss, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked shakily.

"Yeah, yeah, they use it to suck out your soul-" He stopped in midsentence. _He remembered the dementor over him, pressing itself to his face. He must have been kissed. But he was alive, and he was pretty sure he had his soul? Wait a second; how the hell did he know the creature was a dementor. How did he know about the dementor's kiss? He'd never even heard of a dementor before today! Only one explanation then: he didn't know what the hell happened. _"Okay, I don't know how I'm still alive. I don't really care. Let's put this one under the 'miraculous luck that saved my ass' category." They were still so shocked that none of the teachers berated him for his language. Hermoine didn't berate him either; she hugged him, if possible, tighter.

"HARRY, YOU NEARLY DIED!" Hermoine sobbed into his gown. _Boy I hate these bloody things. Damn, hospital gowns; so uncomfortable and irritating. _

"Oh, stop it. I'm fine. Well except for the fact that I'm in the hospital wing. In a hospital robe- damn, I hate these things. Other than that, I feel great. I've obviously just experienced a one-in-a-million fluke that enabled me to survive the dementor's kiss. The same kind of one-in-a million-fluke that saved me from the basilisk's venom and the killing curse. I have a good track record with one-in-a-million flukes. But I feel fine, and I just want to get out of here." He stopped, something hit him suddenly. "How long have I been out?"

"A little less than two days, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore gestured to a table crammed with goods. "Your admirers seem to have bought up most of Hogsmead's merchandise. A trip was organized to take the student's mind off of your tragedy."

An hour later, after a thorough medical examination by Pomphrey that turned up nothing, Harry walked out of the hospital wing with Ron and Hermoine flanking his sides. Dumbledore had asked him repeatedly if he had any idea how he overcame the dementor's kiss, then, after finally realizing Harry had no idea, told him classes were postponed and would begin on Monday, though the welcoming feast would be held tomorrow night. Harry felt like Dumbledore had grown very wary by the end of their conversation, but couldn't understand why. McGonagall came by to wish him well, and Harry, struck by inspiration, from where he didn't know, asked her if he could drop Divination and take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy instead. He didn't know what was urging him to take these classes, but whatever it was; he would not take no for an answer. With the result that she had finally, albeit reluctantly, changed his class schedule. Ron frowned when she did, but said nothing and Hermoine smiled, though she still seemed jumpy and protective of him.

Harry paid them no mind. He felt nothing; like the dementor had drained him of emotion. He didn't even notice the way he took back to Gryffindor tower. He stopped at the portrait control, struggling with his emotionless state. He was trying to feel something, anything; happiness, anger, joy, anything but this frosty lack of emotion. He heard Hermoine tell the Fat Lady the password, as if from the other end of the corridor. Harry automatically stepped through once the portrait opened, never noticing the expression of absolute joy on the Fat Lady's face.

"HARRY!" several voices shouted as he entered the Gryffindor common room

The next second Katie Bell was in his arms, holding onto him for dear life. Once she realized what she had done, she immediately blushed and let go of him. Only for Angelina to take Katie's place and try to squeeze the life out of him. It seemed that the whole of Gryffindor had been positioned in the common room; odd when Harry heard several times there was no chance of recovery for the dementors kiss. But never-the-less, Fred and George disappeared to get food and drinks, as Gryffindor house set up for a recovery party.

Harry still felt emotionally deadened- he didn't know why. If they needed some time to get a party together, who was he to object? He cleared his throat, and the other Gryffindors stopped what they were doing and focused on him. "Listen, the party idea sounds awesome, but I'm going to go for a little walk and clear my head; still coming to terms with near-death, again." He saw several sympathetic nods and winces, and a couple of curious looks from Ron and Hermoine, as he turned around and headed out of the common room.

As he stepped outside the tower, he tried to figure out what was going on. _Did the dementor actually manage to suck out his soul? How could he test if that was true and he didn't have emotions? _An image came to mind; Fawkes singing the phoenix song. If he could just get Fawkes to hum a few bars, so to speak, he'd know if that was true. With a plan coming to mind, Harry set off for Dumbledore's office.

He made it to the gargoyle in good time; less than twenty minutes. Of course, he now had no idea what the password was. "_Candies"_ a voice whispered in his ear. Harry jumped and turned to look up and down the corridor; nothing. He turned back to the gargoyle still feeling paranoid.

If what the voice said was true, and Dumbledore used candy names as his password, then what candy would it be? Of course, it was so obvious. He had spent the past two days dealing with Harry's near death experience from a dementor. And what was used to as an after remedy to reverse the effects of a dementor?

"Chocolate," Harry declared confidently to the gargoyle. It sprang aside to allow Harry through. He stepped onto the circular staircase which activated and began lifting him upwards. When he reached the top, he knocked on the door, which opened to admit him. He stepped inside to see an empty office. No Dumbledore; just the many portraits of Hogwarts previous headmasters and headmistresses that lined the wall and Fawkes who was sitting docilely on his perch. Harry walked over to the phoenix, ignoring the portraits curious looks. He stood in front of the phoenix neutrally, who looked him in the eye.

"Hey Fawkes," Harry said, reaching out a hand to him. Fawkes allowed himself to be pet, before chirping quizzically. "I need a favor, old friend. Could you possibly trill a little for me?" he asked politely but with an undercurrent of need evident in his tone. Fawkes nodded, and began singing the beautiful and inspiring phoenix song. And Harry felt many different emotions welling up inside of himself: peace, bravery, calmness, and loyalty. His emotions were still there! After a few seconds of the phoenix's beautiful song, Harry signaled it could stop. "Thanks Fawkes," Harry said warmly as his emotions receded. It was like they were being forced back into a well-built prison. So the dementor's kiss wasn't the answer.

Harry sighed; what he really needed was a mental examination, to see what was going on in his head. Of course the only people capable of doing that, Snape and Dumbledore, couldn't really be trusted. He blinked; where was all of this information coming from? Shaking himself, an idea hit him- the Sorting Hat. It could see inside peoples heads! He walked over to the Sorting Hat, which sat in its usual place.

"Hello, Hat-," Harry started to say but stopped himself. It clearly wasn't called Hat. "_Adrian_", The same voice from before whispered this in his mind. "-Sorry… Adrian. Could you possibly take a look in my head and tell me what you see; my emotions have been very… off, today."

The brim opened as the magical hat activated. "Certainly, Mr. Potter. You know the drill; put me on your head."

Harry placed the hat on his head. He waited a few seconds for the Sorting Hat to tell him something, anything, before the hat spoke into his mind. "_I can't work properly if you don't deactivate your Occlumency shields, Mr. Potter_," the hat chided him in his head.

Harry was extremely confused. "_I really have no idea what you're talking about, Adrian_," he said blankly.

"_Your Occlumency shields, Mr. Potter. You know, the thing that defends your mind from mental attack_," the Hat responded impatiently.

"I _don't even know what Occlumency is?_" Harry responded irately. "_Look if you tell me how to deactivate it, I'll do it," he said, trying to appease the hat_.

"_You're not doing it consciously!_" the hat asked in a shocked voice. It was silent for a moment. "_Well, that might explain your emotional problems. Occlumency is an art that involves the defense of the mind, which means that an Occlumens, a practitioner of the art, clamps down on their emotions except under extreme emotional stimuli- like phoenix song_."

Harry's eyebrows rose. _So he was practicing Occlumency?_ Maybe it was how he stopped the dementor, if he could shield his mind. No wait, that didn't really make sense- dementors, sucked out the soul- they only clouded the mind. "_So how do I disable the shields?_"

"_Well if you're not consciously creating them, then what you have to do is direct your magic to your brain. Your Occlumency shields should recognize and respond to your magic, and from there, you should be able to temporarily shut the shield down_," the hat directed.

Harry followed the hats directions, and sure enough, his Occlumency shields lowered and he felt a surge of emotions. "_The shielding is down. Now can you tell me what's going on?_"

"_I will but this will take several moments. When I sorted you, or conversed with you last year, I was able to get right to the important parts of the brain. Here you're asking for a full examination of your mind. Even with a millennium of practice, it will still take about fifteen minutes. You can still do things in the meantime- as long as you don't leave this office_," the hat explained.

"_Go ahead_," Harry responded, and he felt the Hat enter his mind.

While the hat was digging through his mind, Harry walked over to Fawkes and began petting the phoenix again. Fawkes relaxed to Harry's touch; he'd always gotten on well with the phoenix. Soon, Harry was bored of that, so he went over to examine some of the books the headmaster had on display. All of which he felt an odd familiarity to; but he'd never read any of them. A few books he was certain he could even quote passages from, despite never opening them. To distract himself from these troubling thoughts, Harry walked over to inspect Dumbledore's collection of magical inventions. There was his deluminator- wait, what? Harry had never laid eyes on it before, but he was certain Dumbledore had invented it to put out and reactivate lights, both magical and muggle. Right next to it were his ward monitoring devices; the ones Dumbledore had used to be aware of the strength of wards at certain locations: the ministry, his brother's bar, and probably Number 4 Privet Drive. His head was beginning to spin from the Sorting Hat's probes, and the confusing thoughts in his mind, so Harry sank down in the chair opposite the headmaster's desk to wait.

He didn't have to wait much longer- soon he felt the Sorting Hat exiting from his mind.

The Hat mentally cleared its throat. "_Well that explains several odd events: you're retaining your soul in the wake of the dementor's kiss, the inadvertent use of Occlumency, and the things you knew that you didn't know before. It's quite simple Mr. Potter; there are memories from Mr. Thomas Riddle stored in your mind_."

Harry felt like a bludger had slammed into his head. "_What_!" he choked out.

"_Yes Mr. Potter- his memories. It seems like when he attacked you those thirteen years ago; he left a piece of his soul in you. When the dementor kissed you, it sucked out __**his**__ soul. Because there were two souls in your body, your own soul employed occlumency against the foreign piece- but because it was no longer there, it went from defending against the foreign piece of soul to defending your mind as a whole- clamping down on your emotions. And the snippets of information are memories or things Mr. Riddle had learned being employed by your consciousness. There is the answer to all of your queries_," the hat finished its explanation.

Harry felt faint- the hat couldn't possibly have said-? "_Can you explain that please?_" Harry whispered desperately, dearly hoping he'd misunderstood the hat.

"_Okay, Mr. Potter. This is what I've gathered from a scan of his memories. When Voldemort attacked you, the rebounding curse split his already fractured soul, which latched onto you. When the Dementor kissed you, by lucky chance, it took the piece of Voldemort's soul that was attached to your scar- the reason why being in his presence hurt you. Because of the foreign presence in your mind, it erected Occlumency barriers. However, these barriers were defending against the soul, which always attacked when he came near you- thus the pain, but external attacks on your mind by a Legilimens could still occur. Now that the soul is gone from your mind, it has left a bit of his personality and magical power, which is being absorbed by you as we speak, and Voldemort's memories. The memories are currently seeping into your consciousness, which is the explanation for the many snippets of knowledge you now know but didn't know before_," the hat finished patiently.

Harry felt bile rising to his throat. He swallowed it down. "_So what does this mean for me?_" he asked, trying to avoid a mental breakdown by putting his mind to work.

"_Well, for one, you will probably be a little more like Tom Riddle. Not manipulative and out to kill all muggles, mind you_," the hat said hurriedly at Harry's turning green. "_You will probably be a bit more intelligent, more persistent, and above all, much more ambitious. Not bad qualities to have, though how you got them was distasteful. You will also notice a substantial increase in your magical abilities. Your magic has been fighting Tom Riddle's soul for the past thirteen years; conflict breeds strength. Now your magic will be completely behind any spell you cast, with extra power courtesy of Mr. Riddle, and you will be giving precise magical arts, like Transfiguration, your complete focus, whereas before half of your focus at anytime was on continuing the fight with the foreign soul, which will mean you'll probably be is generation's transfiguration master. Now then, as for the memories…_"

"_Yes, please, I'd like to know what can be done in regards to them_," Harry said close to panic. _This couldn't be happening; it just couldn't_.

"_This __**is**__ happening, Mr. Potter; you can either accept that it is, or fight it and lose anyway. Now then, in regards to the memories- if you do nothing, by the end of this school year, they will all be floating around in your consciousness. Or you can take the initiative and try and speed up the process with a long meditation session or two. You do have his memories through 66 years of life; it will take a while to sort out. After you see what's there, you could then start picking and choosing which memories to absorb. Hear me out, dammit!"_ the hat demanded at Harry's repulsion. "_You have the memories of the most talented and powerful wizard of the last generation; a wizard who seems to have marked you for death. Are you really going to throw away an opportunity to better defend yourself and your friends? There is so much you could learn from him, Mr. Potter; so much that could help you on the way to greatness. He was a transfiguration master, a charms master, one of the best brewers of the last century, a master of wards and runes, a brilliant arithmancer, and above all, one of the best duelists in history. You are an adequate student, though you will be better with such an increase in your magical ability, and a person who has relied on luck rather than skill in the past. This is a blessing; an opportunity. Don't pass it up_," the hat urged.

Harry waved between disgust at even considering this, and a feeling of obligation to learn all he could. Finally, after several moments, he made his choice. "_How did you get so wise?_" Harry asked.

"_The founders designed me to be a thinking cap, Mr. Potter. I've been advising people for a little less than a millennium_," the hat responded.

"_So what do you think I should do_?" Harry asked. The panic was dying down; he was feeling calmer and more open-minded. The hat was right; this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

"_Search your mind for how to prepare a strong memory potion. Tonight, after the feast, prepare the potion and take it. While under its effects, you should be able to rapidly review Voldemort's memories. Then, it's just a matter of picking and choosing the memories you want. Of course, you will mostly compartmentalizing them for easy review. If you want the benefits of the memory, like to instinctively know his dueling tactics, you will have to absorb his memories on duels into your own mental consciousness. You will have to repeat his process for every type of knowledge you wish to absorb from him_," the hat finished.

"_I'll do that_," Harry decided. "_Thank you for all your help, Adrian_."

"_I'm sure you will, but I have two last pieces of advice. First, if you keep around a batch of memory potions, you will substantially speed up the process of absorbing his memories. If you're a risk-taker; some can be acquired from Snape. Of course, I can only tell you where it's located, not how to get it. My second piece of advice is that getting the knowledge isn't good enough. You must be prepared to practice, and practice a lot. I can't force you to, but I can point out that twice in the last two years Voldemort has come for you, and this year his "supposed" top lieutenant is coming for you; you will face him eventually, so be ready when the next occasion arises. Oh, and I will be keeping this conversation confidential from the headmaster- he will ask of course, but I will say it involves memory problems. Good luck, Mr. Potter_," the Hat said as Harry took it off and placed it its table.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Dumbledore. Harry felt his Occlumency shields being lightly probed by the headmaster.

Harry turned around to face the twinkly-eyed headmaster. _Why not_? "I'm sorry sir. I came here to talk with you; I seem to be having memory problems. Thankfully, Fawkes and the Sorting Hat have helped me find a way to fill in the gaps in my memory; I just need access to some memory potion for about a week. Is there an apothecary you could recommend for speedy delivery of a strong memory potion?"

"Nonsense, Harry. You're memory problems are of the utmost importance to me. What seems to be the problem?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"Well sir, I was having trouble remembering earlier classes and conversations, which worried me when I spoke to Ron and Hermoine. As I went back through my memory, I noticed other gaps. I really want to get this problem fixed, and hat assured me that with a supply of strong memory potion; I can have it fixed in a week," Harry said as he manipulated the truth. He was having memory problems; just with Tom Riddle's memory.

"I understand Harry. I will have professor Snape deliver a batch of potent memory potion to you after the feast. I hope this will solve your problems," Dumbledore replied in his usual grandfatherly tone.

"Thank you very much, sir. I will get out of your way- see you at the feast," said Harry as he made to exit the office.

"Harry," Dumbledore called. Harry stopped in his tracks. "It's good to see you're all right," Dumbledore said, the relief evident in his tone.

"Thank you for your concern, sir. I'm glad I'm all right as well," said Harry as he exited the office.

As he unconsciously walked the familiar route to Gryffindor tower for the pre-feast party, Harry's thoughts dwelled on the conversation with the Sorting Hat and the revelation of Riddle's memories. The Sorting Hat gave good advice; he was going to take it. But how could he break the news to his friends? Unless…

He blinked; he was standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Fortuna Major," he said as the portrait swung open. He walked into the common room to see a roaring party just about to get underway. Harry sighed, he really didn't want a "Congratulations, you Survived the Dementor's Kiss" party but he went to join it anyway, all the while making plans for what needed to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: As I've mentioned in my profile, due to computer complications, I am turning attention to expansion of my one-shots seeing as I don't have the files handy for my other stories. Check back in three weeks and everything should be back to normal for them… until the next deviation, of course. That said, I hope you all enjoy. I don't own Harry Potter. Oh yes, and this story will be in first person the rest of the way. I personally find it more interesting than third in this context. Thanks once again to David305 for the errors he pointed out, and the corrections he reccomended.

Chapter Two: Another Leap

This is the moment when I wish, more than anything else, that I could sleep. It is a simple wish really; I just want to put my head to a pillow and slowly fall into the land of nod. I don't care about the dreams, though. It might be a good dream, like playing Quidditch, or I might not even dream at all. But it is the third possibility, for what will most certainly happen when I reach the land of nod, which keeps me awake tonight.

The party was rather… dull. Being told over and over again how everyone in Gryffindor was so glad my soul wasn't eaten by the Dementors, in many varying forms, was rather tiring. The lowlight of my night was having a blushing Ginny Weasley run over and hug me, right in the middle of the common room, and then squeak and scramble away. I really can't stand her! Yet, she took the whole thing better than Ron and Hermione.

Those two morons have finally gotten on my last nerve. All evening they were protectively standing "guard" over me. Yet they also spent their time trying to draw me away from the crowd, and staring pitifully at me when I resisted, like I was made of glass. When dearest Ginevra actually hugged me, Ron's ears went red and he dragged me off to a corner to interrogate me for the next fifteen minutes about my intentions towards his sister. Despite my continued denials of any sort of relationship, the fool finally stormed off while angrily muttering something about my "Playing with her feelings." Enter Hermione, stage right, to tell me that I should apologize for making Ron and Ginny think there was something going on. To which I finally lost my cool, ranted a bit, pretty much ended my friendship with both of them, and stormed upstairs to bed. Like I said, the party was pretty dull

So, I have cut ties with my two former best friends. I imagine before the night is over, the Weasley twins will be here to prank me, to avenge their brother's honor, or some such dung. The Head Boy is going to have it out for me. And, best of all, the party, what was, perhaps, my best opportunity to gain some influence with select members of my house, was an opportunity wasted. Brilliant. Oh, and I can't get to sleep for fear that the Tom Riddle inside me will shower me with nightmares. Joy.

It was such an easy thing to agree with the damn Hat that I did need to see what's in these memories. Actually following through with it is another matter entirely. I have the memory potion, properly applied silencing charms, and an entire night to start reliving some of Tom Riddle's life. The only thing I lack is the willingness to go through with it. Or do I?

Since the Hat alerted me to it, I have begun to notice the Tom Riddle in me. And frankly, it's rather scary. I am now even quieter and more antisocial than I was before, and I think that says a great deal. In addition, I now feel the yearnings for power and knowledge. Before this whole thing, I would have been content to waste an evening playing chess with Ron. Tonight, as I wasted my time attending the epitome of a pity party, I wished I could have been in the library, or going through the memories. Which leads me to the biggest change of all: as I think I thoroughly demonstrated tonight, I don't really have patience for other people, especially my former friends.

When I look at Ron and Hermione now, I can't help but feel a bit of disgust over my previous choice of friends. Ron is, and probably always will be, thoroughly immature, apathetic to the extreme, lacking of motivation towards anything, and possessed of a sense of entitlement. Especially considering my time at Hogwarts, he was perhaps the worst person to become friendly with. Still, even in spite of all that, I had fun wasting evening after evening, and lounging around, and as insane as it might seem, I will miss it.

I will miss Hermione even more, but I still know, in my heart, that this tie has to be severed. She is a crutch I have outgrown. There was a time when I would have been happy to have her check over and correct my homework, or listen to her long-winded lectures on the magical world, or watch her display her eidetic memory, or whatever it is that allows her to remember whole pages of textbooks word for word. Well, maybe not happy; content is a better word. Now however, she is no longer a lifeline- she's just a really intelligent girl I know. And now that I'm not clinging to her whenever trouble rears its ugly head, I can take a step back, and see her with all her faults and flaws. The view of her this gives me does nothing to abate my worry.

Rather, focusing on her flaws forces me to look at the person who I was. Because as much as I liked Hermione, I can't deny that she has flaws, as we all do. She is a bookworm, and her faith in books undermines her faith in people, or at least, her peers. Her reliance and love of books, distances her from said peers, resulting in her placing her face in authority figures to resolve the conflicts that will inevitably arise. To this point, she has chosen me over Dumbledore, but as the year's progress, and the conflicts facing me become all the more taxing and complicated, can I truly rely on her? Or will there come a point where I cross a bridge she refuses to follow me over? That is a gamble I can't take: her faith in her friends trumping her faith in the written word and authority. Add in to this equation that she will notice how much I changed, and her notice will lead to questions, and her questions will lead to conflict, as I struggle to hide the truth. Once she sees how much better I am doing in class, she will both struggle to surpass me, and obsess over how I am managing such a feat. This will happen whether or not I am still her friend. However, if I am her friend, then her obsession will drive an irreparable wedge between us that will eventually destroy the friendship. It is a difficult choice to make, but I'd rather she hate me for the rest of her life, than have that time be sprinkled with conflict, fear, and eventually death. She was very indicative of the person I was.

Harry James Potter, before the events three days prior, was an arrogant, naive, do-gooder. I never worked hard in school, and I never studied at all. I'd love it if I could tell myself it was because of the fear of a Dursley reprisal, but really, I could have studied for my own sake. Instead, I was rather content to stay exactly where I was in life; as insane as that might seem. In retrospect, this seems like a clear case of Stockholm Syndrome. Or if it wasn't that, then it's something my old self should have gone to a shrink about.

But the arrogant and naïve parts are spot on. I don't know what else to call facing Voldemort over the Stone and in the Chamber. Really, as an eleven or twelve year old I decided that facing down the most powerful Dark Lord in recent times was my responsibility. There are many terms that could be used to describe my actions in both cases: reckless, cocky, scared, idiotic, but arrogant would certainly be among them, and rightfully so. Naïve, well, there are just too many examples of where I fit the bill in that category. And as for a self-righteous do-gooder, I think the Chamber and Stone escapades speak for themselves.

Yet, as much as I sigh, and wish that my other life never happened, it did. I am who I am today because of all that happened with the Dursleys and my first two years of Hogwarts. I feel regret for letting go of Hermione and the Weasleys, even though I know it has to be done. The reason I feel regret is because I am still, deep down inside, Harry Potter.

And yet, I'm not. Harry would have clung to his friends as his lifelines throughout his time at Hogwarts, and beyond. He would never have thought, for one second, to actually pick up a book and study, until he was in actual danger. Anything as ambitious as unlocking a Dark Lord's memories and training to one day defeat him was a project he'd shy away from. So, I'm not him.

And yet I'm not Tom Riddle. Tom would have manipulated them into doing his bidding, and then disposed of them at the opportune moment if they did not swear their loyalty. He would have approached the Slytherins and converted many, through combination of blackmail, persuasion, and coercion. With a loyal band of followers in tow, he would have, once again, attempted to overthrow magical Britain. And while destroying the incompetence and stagnation inherent in the Ministry is a worthy goal, one I might eventually pursue, I don't have a strong enough stomach for it… yet. There has to be a better way to build that doesn't involve gunpowder and gasoline. So I'm not him either. Rather, I am a mix of the two.

Take a second to think about how unstable a compound the two of us combined produces. Half of me is made up of questing for immortality, pursuing knowledge, and trying to figure out how to manipulate the people around you like pawns on a chessboard, and the other half is naivety, innocence, and lethargy towards working hard. One half has lived for nearly seventy years, most of them spent training and acquiring power, readying himself for a takeover of the world, and the other half has lived thirteen years, under constant threat of death, and has spent all of his time trying to make himself invisible. This is not going to end well; not at all.

Ah, and right on time, my bed curtains are jostled. Pulling my wand from underneath my pillow, I clamber out of bed, and swiftly poke it at the outstretched neck of the Twin nearest. Two sets of eyes collectively widen, as they realize that A. I'm awake, and B. I'm beckoning them to take a seat on my bed. With reluctance, they both sit, and I pull the curtains to make sure that we are not heard by my dorm mates.

As I sit back down, I turn to the Twin nearest, and ask, "Have you come for enlightenment, or revenge?"

"Enlightenment?" he asks curiously.

"Why are you here?" I ask again.

The Twins swap glances, and the reluctance is once again visible. Yet, I can't tell if its reluctance because they don't know what to say to a former friend of their brothers, or to a potential prank victim. Twin 1, the one closest to me, speaks again. "Enlightenment, I suppose," he shrugs.

I carefully place my wand back underneath my pillow, an instinctive habit I've developed from Riddle apparently. "What do you wish to know?" I whisper, though it is really unnecessary, seeing as none of my dorm mates can hear me through the silencing charms.

Twin 2 finally speaks. "We heard about your fight with Ron…" he looks lost, like he has no idea what to say. Join the club, mi amigo: I'm making this all up on the fly. "What happened?" he finally blurts out.

I'm sure Ron told him "what happened" in explicit detail. Still his question reawakens the hope within me that I will somehow finally get to sleep tonight with two less enemies. Pretending I was lost for words, I finally shrug and begin to speak.

"You both remember when Ginny hugged me in the middle of the common room, and those rude comments Dean and Seamus made?" They both nod. "Well, Ron took that to heart, so to speak. He cornered me, and asked me what my intentions towards his sister were. I suppose it has something to do with his feeling like he's my 'sidekick' and worrying that getting close to Ginny will cut him out of the loop. Seeing as that isn't the case, I tried to reassure him that there was nothing going on between us; that, as lovely a girl as she is, I'm not interested in her, romantically. He didn't believe me." I glance at the Twin's faces to see that my story is convincing them.

"Or maybe he did believe me, but he didn't care," I continued, "Because, right before he stormed off, he accused me of playing with her feelings. Now, seeing as I didn't ask her to hug me in the middle of the common room, or have a crush on me, and I have always tried, as gently as possible, to say I'm not interested, I really don't think I fit the label."

"In any case, Hermione, the peacemaker that she is, tried to get me to apologize to him, and maybe mend our friendship." I take a breath, because this is a huge gamble I'm taking. "I told her to bugger off as well." I can see the shock on their faces. "Let me guess: you're both thinking something along the lines of "has he lost his mind?""

Two identical nods answer my question. "Blimey, Harry, Hermione was-"

"I know," I whisper, struggling to play the part of the broken man. "She was only trying to help. And that was when I ended my friendship with both of them." I take a moment to let that sink in.

"What!" they blurted out in unison.

I sigh convincingly. Now it's time to mix a fraction of the truth with outright lies. "The Dementor-" I stop, swallow, and start again, as if gathering my courage. "The Dementor was a… wakeup call." I am silent for a moment. "I can't even look at them without imagining what horrors they might face by following me!" I blurt out.

Any stoniness present in their faces has vanished completely by this point. So far, I am playing this beautifully. "A basilisk, a possessed professor, and a Dementor," I whisper. "And there's no end in sight," I mutter. "I know now that this is a path I alone must walk. Facing these horrors, these nightmares, is my destiny. I can't do it with them!" I finish looking defeated.

A flicker of defiance forces me into action, as I know the Twins are about to start arguing against my decision. "Do you know what I hear when a Dementor draws close?" I whisper. The defiance dies as both Twins nod negatively. "The final moments of my parents." Ah, yes, the coup-de-grace. "Knowing what happened on that night, and actually hearing them are two different things. And hearing what happened-" I choose that point to cut off my whisper. I let the silence speak for itself, and then I continue. "Ron and Hermoine will follow me, because it's the right thing to do, and if I allow myself the comfort of their friendship, we all will regret it later. This is a path I must walk alone. If I let them come with me, their death is a high likelihood, and I can't let that weigh on my conscience. Percy, and Ginny, and your older brothers, as well as your parents, can never know what happened. As I said, this is a road I must walk alone. I know how difficult it is, but please accept my decision," I finish. It is like a conductor slashing his arms downwards to signal for the dramatic final note of a beautiful melody.

Silence, it is a glorious, victorious, silence. It is like that split second between the conductor finishing the piece, and the audience breaking out into wild applause. "Harry, you can't do this alone!" Twin 2 choked out.

"I know!" I whisper. "I wish I could, though. But for now, even though I don't know who I can trust with my life, I do know Ron and Hermione have to be kept on the sidelines. This is a road they can't follow me along. They're not… they'll never be ready for it. And frankly, I don't want them to be."

Silence once more. The Twins are grasping for straws, looking for any counterarguments they can find. I think I've succeeded at stopping them at every turn. I know how they want to feel. They want to feel angry, hurt, disgusted; instead, all they feel is shock.

Twin 2 speaks. "Harry…" Words aren't enough, especially at a time like this. The enormity of the decision I pretend to be making seems to finally hit them.

Twin 1 picks up where his brother left off. "Harry… good luck!" He realizes just how lame this sounds after the words leave his mouth. "I mean- er… well," he pauses. "If you need us, we'll be with you, but I understand-"

"And I do too," Twin 2 chimes in. "I know this isn't easy, but if you need us…"

"I know," Harry placated. "If I need you, you'll be there. But for now, I go it alone." With a wave of my hand, I silently dismiss them.

On that note, the Twins get off my bed, and leave my dorm room. I am alone with my thoughts once more. I feel like a concert conductor who has just born witness to a masterpiece of music. Somehow, the Twins don't hate me, even if the rest of the Weasley clan probably will inside of a week. And now, I've put this moment off long enough.

I carefully reach my hand to my night table to take hold of the vial of memory potion Snape so kindly provided. Pulling it towards me, I stare at the magenta liquid inside. All I feel is trepidation for this leap I am about to take.

"_Take a leap of faith_." This potion will make all of my memories of Riddle come to the forefront. For as long as it takes effect, I will rapidly recover Riddle's memories. By the end of tonight, I will see about ten years of his life. By the end of the week, all of them will be known to me. I will see things, horrific things: Death, destruction, and brutality on an almost incomprehensible scale. But the knowledge contained within is just too priceless a treasure to ignore. It has to be done.

"_Take a leap of faith_." I remember that quote from a book I once read, or perhaps it was a movie I snuck in to see. Wherever it was that I saw it from, it has stuck with me ever since. Whenever I made a reckless, and potentially life-altering decision- be it the Stone, the Chamber, going to Hogwarts, or even at this moment, the mantra ran through my head.

"_Take a leap of faith_." I uncork the vial, and tilt it towards my mouth. My hand trembles slightly as cool, bitter drops collide with the tip of my tongue. I lift my hand, to fully pour the vial's contents down my throat. I leap.

* * *

Here I am on a Friday night, and for the second time in 24 hours, I am the center of attention, simply for surviving. As I walk into the Great Hall, every head swivels in my direction. Every eye, even those from the Head table, watches my every move. I pretend to ignore it as I sit down at the end of the table. There is a sudden movement, and before I know it, the Weasley Twins are flanking me on either side, and the three Gryffindor chasers have taken the seats opposite me. Oh, and there's Wood, sitting one down from the chasers and eyeing Alicia. My honor guard has arrived.

I spy Ron, Hermione, and Ginny attempting to get closer. Oh, and some Hufflepuffs look as if they are fighting an internal war about the pros and cons of being a Gryffindor for a day. At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy bears a truly ugly look upon seeing all the attention I'm getting. Survive the Dementor's kiss, kid, and you'll have your day in the sun too.

"Ehem, I know we are all excited for Mr. Potter's return, but perhaps crowding him isn't the best way to show it," Albus Dumbledore's voice booms over the crowd, and manages to evoke a semblance of order in the midst of the chaos. Good, they were starting to annoy me, and hexing onlookers would not be good for my reputation at this point. While we're counting my blessings, I suppose I should be grateful that the first years were already sorted, seeing as they couldn't sleep on the floor.

"Tonight, we welcome Mr. Potter back to our ranks. As you may have heard, unless of course you've been living under a rock, Mr. Potter was attacked by a Dementor a few days ago, and somehow managed to survive the Dementor's kiss with his soul intact." Cheers meet this statement, and Dumbledore, being the shrewd politician that he is, simply allows me to bask, knowing that it makes him look good as well.

After a few minutes of cheering, Dumbledore raises his hands for silence once more. "Unfortunately, the Ministry, despite the unpopularity of the decision, is continuing the Dementor presence around the school. This is because of the escape of Mr. Sirius Black from Azkaban prison. Unfortunately, as Mr. Potter learned to his expense, Dementors do not distinguish between friend and foe. We are all a source of food to them. Dementors do not respond to pleas, or excuses, and merely shielding your presence, with, say, an invisibility cloak, will not deter their effects."

His ability to shift gears is legendary, or so I've heard. "On a happier note, we are pleased to welcome two new teachers to the fold. First is Mr. Remus Lupin, who will be assuming the position on Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." A polite round of applause for Mr. Lupin, though I feel like that name should be familiar to me. "Second, with great sadness I must inform you all that professor Kettleburn retired at the end of last year, in order to spend more with his remaining limbs. Taking his place, is our own Rubeus Hagrid, who shall be assuming the position in addition to his groundskeeper duties." There is a roar of applause, which I make sure I am an enthusiastic part of. Even as my world implodes, there are still some constants, such as liking Hagrid, for all his faults and flaws.

"I have two final words for you all: tuck in!" Finally, Dumbledore is done with his speech. About time, because I am really hungry, and let me tell you that taking a memory potion and living another person's life can really make a guy feel famished. Acting like a feral beast, or a clone of Ron Weasley, I dive into the food.

I ignore the conversation around me as I eat my fill. I am too upset about hearing that the Ministry has not removed the Dementors. That means that I will have to find a way to combat them, and that is going to take time away from harnessing the power embedded in Riddle's memories. Hopefully he knows of something that can be used against those foul demons, but if not…I tune out all the conversation around me as I reflect on what I know of Riddle thus far.

Lord Voldemort was born December 31st, 1926 in small Wool's orphanage in London. He was unaware of his magical abilities, but knew odd things often happened around him, resulting in him being bullied and being made an outcast because of his differences. Eventually, he was able to harness his magical powers and turn the tables on the bullies in the orphanage. But he went further than just protection. One of his basic beliefs was that the best defense was a good offense. So he terrorized the boys at the orphanage with his newfound powers to prevent people from bullying him. By then, his path was set. He continued experimenting with his powers, and in 1938, Albus Dumbledore, the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts at the time, came to the orphanage with a letter of invitation for Hogwarts. He'd accepted the invitation, gone to Hogwarts, and proved he was a brilliant student of magic.

He'd taken his OWL's, NEWT's and set record scores, studied advanced magic not covered in Hogwarts classes, and then set out into the world. He was considered a prodigy, destined for greatness, he amazed and dazzled teacher and fellow student alike, and he got the most out of Hogwarts. Really, the only classes at school he didn't like, though it didn't stop him from doing well in either, were Herbology and Potions. On the other hand, he liked using Slughorn and all his connections too much to ever truly want to drop the subject, and with Herbology, well… let's just say Thomas had a crush on a certain Hufflepuff and leave it at that.

However, after he discovered horcruxes as a device to secure his immortality he gambled, without full data, on making seven- himself and six other soul canisters- and had set to the task of becoming immortal. He made his first one when he tracked down his Uncle Morfin, stunned him, stole his ring, a family heirloom, and then went across town and murdered his muggle father and grandparents. The second was made, his diary, during his seventh year when he used his basilisk from the chamber of secrets to murder Myrtle, after setting the basilisk on several muggleborns throughout the school. Afterwards, he'd tracked down Ravenclaw's diadem from the Ravenclaw ghost, with the intention of making that his third horcrux. And that's where the memories end.

Snape must have pulled out all the stops and given me his most potent batch of memory potion, because I expected to see ten years of memories last night, and I saw eighteen. God damn, am I outclassed. Shit, a ten year old Tom Riddle could wipe the floor with my ass. Oh yeah, in case you didn't notice, Tom Riddle really liked his profanity, and now, so do I. This shit is going to take some getting used to.

I really can't wait to go back to sleep so I can be bombarded with the horrors of watching a sociopath massacre innocent people and being unable to do anything to stop him. This is going to do wonders for my guilt complex. But once again, it has to be done, because names, dates and times, are just as useful as spells and reference books. I glance up to see Ron and Hermione trying to edge towards me, yup, looks like they've come to their senses and want to patch things up- time to make my escape!

* * *

The weekend is nearly over, and my understanding of Tom Riddle is nearly complete.. Tonight should be the last time I have to do this. When I awaken tomorrow, I should have all his memories at my disposal. And then I start using these memories to train like I've never trained before.

I grasp my vial of memory potion, and tilt it so it all goes down my throat. Once more, I take a leap of faith. And then, just like the last few times I've done this, images, thoughts, feelings, and memories fly past me at the speed of light. I've learned that trying to grab hold onto some of the memories, is like trying to enter a conversation in the middle- often rather unpleasant, and hard to do successfully, with little reward in success, but a weighty downside in failure. After what seems like hours, the potion wears off, the memories stop coming, and I fall asleep.

When I awaken, I use my weak Occlumency shields to see if there are any of Riddle's memories left. To my delight, I find none left. I now have ready access to all of Riddle's memories. I check my watch to see what time it is: 6:30. I have an hour before breakfast. An hour to begin compartmentalizing all I know of Tom Riddle, to put all the pieces I have in their proper spaces.

Picking up where the story of Tom Riddle left off: Slytherin's Locket and Hufflepuff's cup, both of which he acquired from a lady he'd poisoned, Hepzibah Smith, were made into horcruxes as well. When he came back to the castle to interview for the DADA post, he slipped the Diadem into the Room of Requirements on the seventh floor. After each horcrux was created, he'd set about creating magical defenses to ensure no one could ever destroy his immortality. Let's see: he has horcruxes hidden in Bellatrix LeStrange's vault, a cave where he used to torture his fellow orphans, the Room of Requirements, and the ruins of the house where his mother grew up. The diary and the piece of soul that resided in my scar are now gone. Strangely enough, my ability to speak parseltongue isn't- in fact, I can now do it freely, whereas before, I could only really do it in the presence of a snake. This bears further investigation.

Anyway, back to the story of Riddle: along the way to making his horcruxes, he'd acquired so much magical skill and knowledge that the only legitimate threat to him was Dumbledore. He was a true genius. He spent the intermittent years between Hogwarts and the First War doing a variety of things; learning magic from different cultures, like goblins and centaurs, curse-breaking gigs, underground dueling competitions, seeking out various instructors considered the best in their fields, and so on. He was a jack of all trades kind of guy. Except that he mastered all trades as well. Think something along the lines of a Leonardo Da Vinci, mixed with Hitler, and magic, and you have an idea of who Voldemort has become.

He strove for perfection in any and all fields. If there was something he didn't know, he'd work to commit the subject to heart. Of course, his obsessive perfectionism wasn't limited to magic; during the First War, a skilled fighter who'd outdueled his minions would quickly find himself on Voldie's hit-list, and soon after, dead.

Anyway, after his failure to coerce Dumbledore into giving him the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, he'd begun war through his band of faithful followers from his schooldays, the Death Eaters, and attempted to take over magical Britain as a stepping stone to taking over the world. Said followers included the LeStranges, happily sealed in Azkaban nowadays, Lucius Malfoy, the Yaxleys, the Carrows, Dolohov, the Notts, Rookwood, the Crabbes, the Goyles, Avery, Barty Crouch Jr., Rosier, Karkaroff, now head of Durmstrang- I did check that one-, Mulciber, Regulus Black, Macnair, Greyback, and two final names of interest: Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew. He was wildly successful, winning victory after victory from the ill-equipped Ministry and the rag-tag Order of the Phoenix Dumbledore cooked up.

He was so close to victory that when Snape reported on the prophecy in 1980, he knew it was his chance to both eliminate the final threat to his power and create his final horcrux. On a side-note, I knew there was a reason I fucking despised that greasy-haired motherfucker, even as mild mannered Harry Potter. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_"

Damn Trelawney! And she's the Divination teacher! Well of course Double D would want to keep her close, just so that the rest of the prophecy, whatever it is, didn't get out. Still, now I am really grateful I dropped that class. By the end of the year, I probably would have ended up cursing her.

So Big V kept watch, and saw two kids born at the end of July of 1980: Neville Longbottom, and I. Well, he ordered both our deaths, but he had to figure out which one was more likely to be a threat. Thankfully, for him, he had two spies, Barty Crouch Jr. and Peter Pettigrew, who were feeding him information on the two huge threats to his power. So he set to work trying to figure out which one of us was the proper threat, and which one he could send his minions to dispatch.

His investigation started off with the elements of a careful lab experiment. First, he'd sat down, and analyzed Longbottom and Potter family history. Both families went pretty far back, though the Longbottoms hailed from Normandy, while the Potters were tied down in Wales. Oddly enough, both families developed along similar paths, such as coming to reside in South Cornwall, and both having periodic bouts of both prosperity and poverty. Along the way, there was a healthy intermixing of new blood into both lines, so there was never really a danger of either child becoming a squib.

So, seeing as that really didn't hold an answer, he next turned to the present state of both families. The Longbottoms technically won this round, seeing as they still retained quite a bit of family wealth, while the Potters had fallen on hard times. Damn, I have just enough to make it through school; I'll need to raise some capital soon. Anyway, though the Longbottoms won in terms of money, James Potter was considered a better student in school than Frank Longbottom, and Frank, while he had his own influential circle of friends, was outdone by what Voldie saw of James. When the first war began, Riddle's spies in Hogwarts reported on James's friends. What Tom saw did impress him in a way.

My father's friends were the most gifted students in Hogwarts in their day. My father was considered the top Transfiguration student in his time at Hogwarts. Seeing as he was a pureblood, and a powerful one, Voldemort was planning to make overtures… when a group of rogue Death Eaters killed my grandparents. For the record, those Death Eaters can be found in an unmarked grave outside of Inverness… Tom really wanted to recruit my father.

As for the others: Sirius was from the Blacks; probably the most notorious dark family in Britain at the time. Seeing as he already had Bellatrix, Regulus, and Narcissa courtesy of Lucius, recruiting Sirius would have been enough to solidify the Blacks support behind him- for the time being, anyway. Remus Lupin, now the Defense professor, and I would be willing to bet the remainder of my vault that it's not a coincidence that he is teaching at the same time Sirius is on the run, was also a talented student, and… a werewolf. Voldemort really distrusted Fenrir Greyback as his werewolf marshal- figured the beast planned to one day turn on him- and Lupin was seen as a charismatic, but easily controlled, alternative. The only one he did get was Pettigrew, and the little rat fucker ended up betraying my parents.

Anyway, his decision finally came down to, and I can't make this shit up, was… a coin toss. Yes, really. Voldemort had no idea whether Neville or I would be the one the prophecy foretold. Both James Potter and Frank Longbottom married well, though not by his standards. Both were from old families. Both of the prophecy children had shown a lot of power- accidental magic-wise. Even the pureblood/halfblood division wasn't enough of an indication, seeing as he was a halfblood himself, and a Dark Lord. Finally, and this could be part of the reason why he is considered mad, he pulled out a galleon, and picked a Neville Longbottom side and a Harry Potter side. He figured fate would guide his hand. He flipped it, and it came out… on me. Yes, after all the data he'd compiled, the days spent researching and what not, he tossed a coin.

After he'd assigned Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Barty to go after the Longbottoms, he set out for my family. He figured securing his power on Halloween was too great a symbol to pass up. He'd brought with him an ancient pair of spectacles that Ravenclaw had invented, and had intended to turn those magical glasses into his final horcrux. And we all know how events turned out that night. The glasses were unfortunately vaporized in the backlash of Voldemort's failed curse.

That is a basic summary of everything I learned in my hour. Now imagine what I could do in a week. I don't have a lot of specifics right now, because specifics mean reliving more of the bloody swathe Voldemort cut across magical Britain and Europe, and I definitely don't have that strong a stomach, especially this early in the morning.

I dress, and head down to the Great Hall. I half expect to be ambushed in the common room by Ron and Hermione. I know I've told them several times that they aren't my friends anymore, something any hormonal teenager would say at this time in their life, but they don't seem to get the message, and I really don't want to get mean. I also suspect the Big-Head Boy has been keeping a close eye on me, as I seem to be crossing paths with him too many times for it to be a coincidence. Oh, and Ginny has been glaring at me like an angry cat; I bet my not being friends has somehow ruined the picturesque wedding she imagined us having. Such a shame.

I walk into the Great Hall to yet more stares, and from some like Snape and Malfoy, glares. McGonagall bustles over to hand me my schedule, while Hagrid waves merrily at me. Dumbledore's eyes twinkle, and yes, there is my confirmation that it is a Monday. Even with the knowledge of Tom Riddle, I still have four more years of Hogwarts left, and, if they follow the same pattern, then I am going to be in a life or death struggle at least once a year for all of them. I glance at my schedule: Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Ancient Runes today. And after class, I have to start exercising my magic, so I could actually last five seconds in a fight against Riddle, for when he does return, which, knowing my luck, is either going to be the end of this year or the next one. I sigh, and after glancing at Lupin to see him watching me like a hawk, turn back to my toast: I really, really, REALLY, hate Mondays.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I apologize for the delay is expanding one-shots, which was due to the site error type 2 which plagued me for nearly a week. Anyway, in addition to expanding TKBM and OTIS, I also decided to work on another chapter of this story in my time. Because of the delay, RBTE and OMTF will be pushed back to next week, and then the week after, I should be back in business. Anyway, thanks to all who've read and reviewed, and I hope you enjoy this latest installment. Oh, and just in case we weren't clear on this one, I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter Two: One of Those Days

Have you ever had one of those days? Come to think of it, I can't even imagine what the life of the originator of the saying "one of those days" was like. Must have been a truly, bloody awful series of days; perhaps something truly horrific involving a chimera, a couple of dragons, and maybe a rogue goblin clan. Well, all I know is that today is setting up to be "one of those days."

How do I know this? I am sitting in Arithmancy, and Hermoine Granger is sitting beside me, blathering on about whatever, and trying desperately to engage me in conversation. I resist sighing though; even though I tried to make it perfectly clear, in my own polite and diplomatic way, that we are not friends anymore. Let's just say she doesn't seem to be getting the message. Damn it! Why can't class start already?

I might have mentioned that Ron and Hermoine have taken to stalking me to try and apologize and patch things up. I have tried so many different approaches, ranging from angry outbursts to empathetic understanding, to deliberate ass-kissing in a style befitting Percy, in my quest to get them to leave me alone. None of my approaches has been working, so now I'm trying out the silent treatment.

In a way, I really miss Ron and Hermoine, and all the good times we had. As sad as it might seem, pretending I'm nothing special, or spending endless hours in the library being bored while Hermione looks whatever up, or wasting hours in futile chess matches with Ron… it was my social life for two years. Every time they make another plea, another desperate attempt, to bring me back, for just a second, a blissful second, I can imagine pretending nothing has changed, that I'm still the same old Harry Potter, and that I could go back to those mindless pursuits. For better or worse, the next second always heralds the return of reality.

I wish I could apply a silencing charm to my ears, but 1. Who knows what will happen the next moment, and I might actually miss something important, and 2. Considering what happened the last time I tried a silencing charm on myself, well… I would rather hear Hermione's grating voice, than lose my own for the next few hours. Can't this damn class just… oh wait, professor Vector is here and lecturing, and everyone around me, especially authority-worshiper Hermione, has fallen silent. Much better.

I'm guessing everyone has had one of those "I wish I had another chance moments" where, as the title implies, someone would desire the ability to do an event over based on future knowledge of what happens with their choice. I would also imagine that some people's "I wish I had another chance moment" relates back to when they were school. From that leap of logic, I think I can say with certainty, that some people wish they could, oh, I don't know… do school over, I guess. Let me tell you, as someone who has completed this curriculum fifty times over, and is now forced to sit through it again, while "learning" the same things that are literally floating around in my head… no you don't. If I could just go off and study privately, then I'd progress much faster than in these "classes."

Vector's introduction to Arithmancy is a less elegant and polished version of the one Tom Riddle received… back in the late 30's. Yes, they have not found a way to spruce up this lecture in over fifty years. It's so dry, I feel like I'm choking on sand. Everyone else, of course, listens with rapt attention.

The gist of the lecture is that numbers have magical properties, and so by applying this principle to the casting of magic, spell effects can be broken down and determined- in our seventh year. Yes, the next few years will be spent learning the magical properties of numbers- the actual breaking down and recreation of those numbers into spells isn't happening for quite a while. So basically, most of this year and next year, this class will be like a very, very remedial muggle math class- most of these students are purebloods, or brought up in an all-magic environment; anything beyond basic addition, subtraction, and multiplication wasn't taught. Eventually, kicking and screaming, and with lots of sacrifice, some of these students might be able to do something resembling basic muggle arithmetic by fifth year, just in time to begin applying the magical properties of those numbers to spell equation, another fun time for them all. Yes, I know, I'm being over-critical; let's see you be peppy and upbeat with two years of _this_ to look forwards to.

Say what you will about Harry Potter; he had a gift with math. Yes, one of the few things I could do with any degree of flourish as math. In reading, writing, language, and history, I was truly average, or below, depending on how Dudley's grades were doing. But math… I was doing finding variables and determining the angle of a triangle at the end of the year before I left for Hogwarts. Really, my only dream when I was younger was somehow getting away from the Dursleys and scraping a living as an accountant. Even if I wasn't gifted with the memories of an intelligent, sociopathic Dark Lord, this class would probably still be a breeze… provided I actually signed up for it; I was in Divination to start the year.

Yes, Vector has finally finished speaking, and now she's passing around the beginner's worksheet. When I say the beginner's worksheet, I mean the kind of assignment a ten-year old is given in primary. While everyone else is receiving the assignment, and starting it, I cast my gaze around the classroom… let's see who my peers are.

Unfortunately, this is a full-house class, so there are plenty of familiar faces that I've learned to despise over the years… like Draco Malfoy. Yes, the annoying ferret is now smirking at me. Thankfully, he knows this isn't Snape's classroom, or he'd probably be doing more Dementor's kiss impressions. He's sitting next to Pansy Parkinson, someone I will take a great deal of satisfaction in fitting the "pureblood with non-existent math skills" mold.

Let's see, aside from Hermione and myself, there are no other Gryffindors. Representing Hufflepuff… and yes, it took until I saw it in Riddle's memories to finally figure out how ridiculous a name Hufflepuff is- especially considering the other house names actually have something to do with their animal mascot. Anyway, representing Hufflepuff, we have Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan- for the record; I know he is a bloody moron, so watching him flail will be entertaining- Hannah Abbott, and Megan Jones. The biggest turnout, unsurprisingly, is from Ravenclaw, with Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, Stephen Cornfoot, Terry Boot, and Su Li representing. Finally we have good old Slytherin; Malfoy, Parkinson, Ted Nott- the name Ted annoys him, so that's what I call him-, Greengrass, and Davis are their representatives. So from this, I can determine one thing; apparently the house of bravery isn't brave enough to chance a math class.

Oh, and there's Vector glaring sat me. Apparently my inner monologuing, and hence, not doing my work, is starting to get to her. I grab my quill- Riddle hated these blasted things too, and it is very disconcerting to be in agreement with a psychopath- and begin filling out the sheet. Ten minutes later, I'm done. I would have finished sooner, if it weren't for the fact that the math problems were damn near illegible. Sadly magic is not as good as a muggle photocopier for this particular job. Shrugging, I walk up to Vector's desk, and turn in my sheet.

Vector proclaims to the class that I've finished, and have gotten every problem right, and that is the cue for every student to turn all of their loathing and hatred on me. Well, what else was I expecting from the Slytherins? The 'Puffs and the 'Claws… hate being outshone and outsmarted. As for Hermione, she's both wounded I won't talk to her, and near pulling out her hair trying to figure out how I could have beaten her.

Vector gives me another sheet, and ten minutes later, I'm back at her desk, handing it in. This continues in a cycle of her giving me increasingly harder worksheets, and my finishing them in ten minutes… maximum. Oh, and as this cycle continues, the dislike and disbelief over my ability to do this turns into disgust and incredulity. Poor Hermione, who A. hasn't read a textbook on advanced math B. is not as gifted as I am in this subject C. Has no Dark Lord's memories to rely on, and D. is badly out of practice, having not done a math class since she was eleven, can only gape at me, just like the rest of the class, as I continue to charge through assignments. Finally, with about fifteen minutes left, Vector calls me up to her desk.

"Harry, can you do me a favor?" She whispers. "Can you run this up to professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, for me? Her classroom is at the top of North tower." Of course she would assume I have no idea who Trelawney is, or where her classroom is located. "If you do this, you don't need to return back to class, and I'll formally excuse you from the week's assignments, seeing as you clearly don't need them anyway." Is it me, or does she really want to get me out of her hair?

Hmm, more free time, and more time to fix everything I've been doing wrong with my spellcasting for the past two years, and whatnot. As I bonus, I can annoy my dear cousin even more, and prevent his after-class Dementor's kiss impression; which, contrary to what he thinks, isn't that amusing. "Sure, I'll do it," I whisper back. Vector hands me a stack of papers and I return to my desk to pack up. Even Hermione's authority fetish can't prevent her from trying to whisper questions to me; questions I ignore. Without a look back, I leave the classroom.

I am grateful no one else can see the sly smile on my face. It's good to be the king, and right now, I feel like the king of the hill. What do you know; I guess Hermione's incessant studying of every textbook is for a good reason, because the feeling of doing something with so much more skill than anyone else, and leaving them all in the dust, is rather… intoxicating. Or maybe that's another new thing I inherited from good old Tom, because I never felt such a degree of smug satisfaction when I played Quidditch.

To think, for a while, I was actually considering trying to hide what I am. It was an idea I tossed around for a bit; hide my powers, and unleash them at the opportune moment, like when Voldemort next rears his ugly head. Any considerations of that idea have gone out the window. I have changed, and people are going to notice. Trying to stop the change, or resist it, could bring unintended consequences, and frankly, I've spent too much of my life hiding. Besides, for once in my life, the opportunity for greatness, true greatness- and not the kind idiotic fighting-a-basilisk-with-a-sword nonsense which was more my style these past few years- is within reach.

I could accept not doing that well at Hogwarts with a smile and a shrug in the past. No more. I took the easy way out. There were reasons, and extenuating circumstances, for why I didn't try my hardest when I first arrived, such as the abused child finally finding freedom elsewhere, or wanting to hang on to a new friend. At the time, I thought they were perfectly valid reasons. Now…

Now, I want to be great. The Sorting Hat once told me greatness was within my grasp… in Slytherin. I of course, went to Gryffindor, where I found a different kind of greatness, one that I now resent. Being the reckless, idiotic, noble hero who doesn't think things through is a tiring role to play. Worst of it, it inevitably leads to a collection of fan-girls who have nothing better to do than follow you around; read "Ginny Weasley." Thankfully, I've found a third road, one that leads away from being a Slytherin, or being the reckless Gryffindor hero. For the first time in my life, greatness is within my grasp, and it is exactly what I want.

Or rather, what I hope to obtain, because as the horcruxes prove, Voldemort is still out there. Given enough time, I might be able to eventually match him in ability. However, considering my luck thus far, our next confrontation is fast approaching. And no matter what, I won't be ready… unless I somehow gain more time. Good luck with that, Harry, and while I'm wishing here, I want a Ferrari as well.

At least, now I don't have to worry that much about Black. Knowing what I know, and by consulting the library's Daily Prophet archives, I can say with certainty that I know enough to dismiss this threat. Black was sent to Azkaban without a trial, for murdering the twelve muggles- plus one Peter Pettigrew, someone who I'd probably kill if he were still alive-, and it's suspected he's out to kill me. Well considering that he was not my parent's secret-keeper, and that the only reason he killed those other people was to get Pettigrew, I don't think he has any ill will towards me. More likely, Dumbledore is in danger; I guessing Black will want revenge on him for allowing his life sentence in Azkaban to happen. While he is definitely not in Dumbledore's league, perhaps Azkaban really has unhinged him into thinking he can get at Dumbledore. Still, everyone is going to be keeping an annoyingly close watch on me, especially our beloved Headmaster.

I have no idea how to think of Dumbledore anymore. On the one hand, I want to take him to task for his endless stream of stupid nonsense he's put me through; the stone, the chamber, my childhood, are just a few notable examples. There is a part of me that wants to believe, for my own peace of mind, perhaps, that he is a manipulative old fool who has been pulling strings and dangling me around like a puppet. In a way it's comforting to find a way to make my own stupidity his fault, and yet, it also seems like crazed ranting; a backlash at my lot in life.

The other part of me distances myself from the conspiratorial ravings of the first side. The Headmaster made very similar mistakes with Tom Riddle; allowing carte blanche, not properly investigating Riddle and his group, trying to ignore his faults and crimes, and above all, not intervening in either his home life, or his school life. He tries his hardest not to intervene, unless he feels his hand has been forced, and he wants to believe that even direct provocation isn't enough to force his hand. Dumbledore wants to believe the best in people, and acting as his position often dictates, such as from that of Headmaster of Hogwarts, requires a more cynical view of people, particularly students. At the end of the day, I think it is Dumbledore's inability to reconcile his isolationist tendencies and his belief in the goodness of people that is responsible for most of his own inflicted ills upon my life. Believe it or not, that idea actually brings me comfort…more comfort than the idea that he is a puppet master pulling my strings, anyway.

Well, I'm finally here, standing below the trapdoor to Trelawney's tower. As strange as this might seem, this classroom has always been the Divination classroom; something about this place supposedly enables a heightened ability to predict the future. Don't laugh; haven't you ever heard of the oracle of Delphi? It's the exact same thing. Right on cue, the trapdoor lowers, as if it senses me there.

A quick climb, and I stand in a smoky classroom, with many different sets of eyes staring at me… including a familiar bushy-headed bookworm. Hmmm, how'd she get here? Yes, she's freaking out, and… she's just ducked under her table, hoping I didn't see her. Yeah, it's her- so how did she get here, seeing as the wards prevent every form of magical travel within. Unless… Yes, there is the chain, I can see the small brass part- she must have a time-turner!

Damn, a time-turner is the answer to my "I need more time to train" problem, for obvious reasons. Can I steal hers? Should I steal hers? Despite what I might have done, Hermione was a great friend, and I can't abide by stealing her time-turner… especially when I haven't even exhausted my options. For instance, the room of requirements never failed Riddle- perhaps it has a solution for this problem.

I turn my attention away from the internal debate, and place the packet of papers on Trelawney's desk. Glancing at her, the image of an insect is conjured in my head. Suffice it to say, I am not impressed, and neither was Riddle.

"Welcome, Harry Potter," Trelawney utters in a misty tone. She hands me a cup of tea. "Drink, and tell me what you see?"

Okay, I've just walked into a strange classroom, and the even stranger teacher has just handed me a tea cup, told me to drink it dry, and then asks me to tell her what I see. Now do you believe me when I say it's one of those days?

Shrugging, I take the teacup, and drain it in one gulp- I was rather thirsty- and then stare at the bottom while I shake it slightly. Hmm, several different symbols, but one stands out to me- the grim. Normally, a symbol of death, but I know better. Pettigrew told his master that my father and Black were animagus; a stag and dog, respectively. So if what this teacup says is true, than it looks like I will be crossing paths with Black; go figure. Without saying anything, I hand it back to Trelawney.

She looks at it carefully for a few seconds… and then she shrieks and drops the cup, letting it shatter into pieces on the floor below, while she dramatically clutches her heart. "The Grim! The Grim! He has the omen of death!" Yup, I kind of smelled a set-up; good to see that my paranoia was rewarded.

"Can I go now?" I ask in a bored tone of voice. Perhaps it is the casualness with which I approach my predicted death that serves to shock so many of my peers. With Trelawney though, all she can do is a poor imitation of having a seizure.

"Don't you understand?" she whispers in a high pitched voice. "This is an omen of Death! You are going to die!"

Thanks for the newsflash. If I wanted to be depressing I'd tell her something like I die a little every second, but instead, I'll opt for another approach. "Death?" I utter, and Trelawney, taking it as a question nods. I glance at my watch to see that I only have a few seconds to compose a witty reply. Well, perhaps this one will seem poetic. "Death…" -poetic, because it is so true in my case, thanks to the Dementors- "Is only the beginning."

There, I timed it perfectly so that the bell has just rung and no one has a chance to reply. Without a look backwards, I leave this godforsaken classroom, and head off to Transfiguration. Here we go, this a class where I am actually going to have to try, because Transfiguration is easily my worst subject… next to Potions, of course.

Soon enough, too soon by my estimation, I am sitting at a table with Seamus, Dean, and Neville, listening to McGonagall lecture. The only hitch is that everyone still seems caught up in the whole "Death Prediction" thing. "What on Earth has gotten into you all?" Oh great, even McGonagall, Madame Oblivious, has noticed, an hour plus in, especially when she changes into an animagus and back, and no one notices; except me, of course.

Damn, that's something I eventually want to do; be an animagus. The problem is that everything is a higher priority than investing time and energy into becoming one. Besides, it's not like I'll have much in the way of use for it while I'm still at Hogwarts. Maybe when I'm closer to graduating, I'll work on it. Or… wait a moment, Lupin's teaching, isn't he? And perhaps he could eventually help me out with my training. So, if I ever need to seek out Lupin's aid, perhaps the animagus form could be a bargaining chip I could use to secure his help; a desire for friendship during hard times, and all that… I'll keep that in mind, just in case.

Oh, and McGonagall has just finished berating the class for believing in all that superstitious nonsense. Actually, it was pretty spot on; the small sample of Divination I witnessed. It takes a lot of chutzpah (balls) to scold people for believing in foretelling the future when they, and you as well, are magic practitioners. Not to say that Divination can't be completely wrong, but really, if the art relies on predicting the future, how can the legitimacy of the seer be known until the future?

So here's another odd thing I've just become aware of: I've noticed my note-taking has gotten better… well it couldn't have gotten any worse. I looked over my notes from my first two years; damn near illegible. I think back to those classes, wondering if I was on some kind of mental impairment drug when I took those notes; that's how bad they were. Thankfully, now that my handwriting has somehow shifted itself into a script I can read, my notes might actually be worth something to me at a later point.

Finally, Transfiguration is over. The lesson was pretty dry, mostly note-taking and such, but the end amused me. And now, it's time for lunch. I'm betting that Ron and Hermione will try and stalk me to my end of the table, again. Maybe the silent treatment will succeed in getting them to go away… probably not; I'm not that lucky.

I stand firm in my resolve to end my friendship with both of them; to not involve them in this nonsense anymore. I still like them, in my own way- but they are the last people I want at my side while things get more progressively dangerous. As I mentioned, and still intently believe, Ron is too unfocused and lax to be anything other than a liability in battle, even with training, and Hermione is too much of a by-the-book, no improvisation allowed, type, to be anything other than predictable fodder. And even without a seer at my side, I can safely predict that I haven't fought my last battle.

Here's the thing about lunches at Hogwarts; they suck. Oh, not the food; never the food. Here's one thing you can say about the food: "It's magically delicious!" The people… well, if there is one thing wizards are deficient in, and yes, I know there's more than just one, in this case, its social skills. It is the norm among my peers for them to pick two or three friends, and then just leave their social life in that small circle, while not becoming close with anyone else. Now, with it being publicly known that Ron and Hermione are not my friends, well… it's like I'm suddenly in the middle of a war- to be my friend. A metaphorical line of people has just formed who are now trying to include me in their social circles. If you're skeptical, then let me tell you about how lunch went.

While I quietly sit at the end of my table, with those two camped close by, it is like a revolving door of people, who just keep coming over, and eventually end up leaving, rather discouraged. This is pretty much a line of people applying to be my new friend. My lunch hour starts with Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley coming over, and apparently, they just decided that that today was a great day to properly apologize for the whole Chamber episode and the blaming-me thing, and then they invite me over to their table. When I politely refuse, no need to burn bridges, they move on, crestfallen.

Next up, we have Goldstein and Boot, two Ravenclaw blokes who aren't a bad sort, but still, I'm not showing my hand without knowing what anyone has to offer. Is it a bad way to look at my peers: Yes! On the other hand, a friend of mine will also have to stand with me against Voldie and his merry band of psychopaths; I need to be certain that they are capable. Right now, Goldstein and Boot don't look capable, but I could be wrong, hence the "no burning bridges" policy.

Up next, is - surprise, shock, awe- Nott and Zabini, from Slytherin. Well, aren't we popular today? I am kind of curious why I haven't seen any upper years, to this point, but I guess my peers get first shot. Anyway, getting back to the "auditions", I promptly turn down their rather poor attempts at conversion. These two are a little two shifty and unknown for consideration… or it Nott's case, too well known, as images of his father kneeling at his master's feet stay with me throughout our three minute meeting. Sorry kid; I don't need a servant. The next pair to sit down, though, really shocks me.

Sitting across from me, are two people I have never seen together before: Neville Longbottom and Katie Bell. These are two of the shyest people I know; yes, Katie is incredibly shy- I've never seen her speak to anyone outside of a Quidditch practice or game. To this point, all I knew about her was that she was a huge Quidditch lover. I suppose I thought she was too much like Alicia and Angelina, who always seemed to love Quidditch to the detriment of their schoolwork. Come to think of it, she apparently does well enough at classes that other fourth years, like that McLaggen bloke, badger her for help; then again, that might be because they want to spend time with her, and not that they actually need her help. As for Neville, well…

In previous years, Neville was the odd one out; the clumsy kid who always did poorly in class. Which is a shame, because knowing what I do now about Frank and Alice Longbottom, I would have thought Neville would be a much better student. I don't know if that has to do with growing up with his grandmother, his parents being driven insane- yes, I did look up that piece of history- or if it something else; maybe the LeStranges did something, for all I know. As I suppose could be expected from a boy whose parents were tortured to insanity, and who then spent his childhood years being told how he wasn't living up to his parents example, and who then went to Hogwarts, was sorted into Gryffindor, was always the odd one out, and did poorly in class; he isn't exactly a social butterfly. Now, you might understand why seeing this odd pair, sitting in front of me, comes as such a shock.

"How are you doing Katie?" I ask gently. I feel like if I say the wrong thing, she might run away. Neville, oddly enough, looks calmer and more composed than she does… and Neville looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than here. Considering how strange and unpredictable my life has been: this is definitely on the stranger end of the spectrum.

"Fi-fine, Harry," she mumbles. She glances nervously at Neville, maybe looking for encouragement or support.

"So what is this about?" I ask casually. I am trying to prevent an outbreak of tears, or a public backlash, "no burning bridges", after all. This meeting looks like it could go south at any moment.

Finally, after another round of glances, and nervous twitching, Neville finally gets up the courage. "Whathappenedbetweenyouand-"

I raise a hand to cut him off; isn't this something right out of the Albus Dumbledore negotiation textbook? Yes, I should have expected as much- a garbled barrage of words. Neville isn't the most charismatic person I know… or second most, or- well, you get the idea. Pretending as if there was nothing unusual about the question, I reply in an airy voice, "We decided to go our separate ways." Yup, they both overheard, and look ready to argue in public, something I really want to prevent. "Or, rather, I decided that in the wake of this latest attempt of my life, I needed to reassess my priorities and reorganize my life."

Well, that succeeded in shutting both of them up. I guess bluntly slapping them with the truth was a tactic that just never occurred to me, and yet it seems to be working. Which is quite sad, considering I rolled out pretty much every other tactic available in the Tom Riddle handbook of how to influence people, and none of them worked; I never thought the simple approach would work so well. Don't get me wrong; Ron and Hermione aren't happy, empathetic, sympathetic, or understanding- but at very least my reply has them considering my rationale- all I can really ask for.

Anyway, back to Neville and Katie and the convention of nervous wrecks. This time, Katie speaks, "Maybe you should patch things up," she whispers hesitantly. Is that concern for my well-being? Of course it is; this is Katie Bell, and finding a nicer person would take quite a long search.

My voice hardens slightly, but hopefully not enough to scare them off. "I have everything under control," I whisper back. Damn, harsher sounding than I wanted and now they've both fled. Great, and now we're back to our regularly scheduled program: "How to succeed in life through hard work, or… become friends with Harry Potter."

Thankfully, after a few more "auditions", including Greengrass and Davis, Malfoy and his cronies- turning him down flat, again, was fun-, Seamus and Dean, who I mentally waved off because they are partiers- not warriors, Corner, Cornfoot and Entwhistle, who have potential, and a few older years acting as representatives, like McLaggen and Diggory. Needless to say, before any other people could corner me and about the possibility of being my friend, I hightailed it out of there, and went off to the library.

Yes, really, I am willingly in the library; outside, pigs are flying, and a plague of locusts heads my way. This is where I came to research current events, like the LeStrange/Longbottom affair, so perhaps it won't seem so odd. Thankfully, Hogwarts has a rather extensive Daily Prophet archive.

On a different but related not, one thing I've discovered in the course of memories is that it is a norm for wizard/witch attains a certain level of power and understanding over and of the world around them to continually work on projects, such as Flamel and his stone. Come to think of it, I could use a Philosopher's Stone.

Seeing as I do fall into the category I described above, if just barely, I now have projects as well. My first and most important one is training. Thankfully, though it will be a long, ongoing project, I have access to a set-up, the Room of Requirements, which should help me train, and shield me from any curious observers. My second project, and most painful one to date, is to learn Wizarding Law. In the beginning, when Tom Riddle drifted close to the line between legality and illegality, he became a Wizarding Law scholar, just in case one of his "projects' brought him before the Wizengamot. When he fully committed himself to becoming immortal, he ceased to care; laws are not for gods, and all that rot. In my case, there's a good chance that in the coming years, some ex-Death Eaters, like Lucius Malfoy, may embark on another "Let's kill the Boy-Who-Lived," crusade- or might use the Wizarding legal system, such as it is, to destroy me on their behalf. Needless to say, I can't allow them that avenue of attack.

In addition, I am trying to figure out how to bring a lawsuit against the Ministry. I think Potter V. Fudge has a nice ring to it, and seeing as the slimy bastard stationed Dementors around Hogwarts as a "precaution", and then didn't remove them after I was attacked, and, in fact, covered up details of the attack, I want his head on a pike; bowler hat and all. Failing that, I want him thrown out of office on his pompous backside. Of course, that isn't happening until next summer, at the earliest, but it is something to work towards.

Wizarding law is such a dry read that by the time I finish, I feel like I'm choking on sand. Still, I do find a few clauses that would enable me to dodge a few variations of the "Using restricted magic without a license" charge. Now, it's time for Care of Magical Creatures. The fact that Dumbledore entrusted this class to Hagrid makes me think that the Headmaster has finally lost his mind. Considering that Hagrid has a dangerous animal fetish, putting him in charge of a class where he can freely expose students to them under the guide of "education" does not inspire comfort in me.

Old Harry Potter would have concocted excuse after excuse for Hagrid's behavior, and he does indeed merit some of them. Still, I'm a bit more Tom Riddle than Harry Potter, or at least I think I am, considering I have thirteen plus years experience being him, and nearly seventy years of memories of a life as Tom Riddle, and a semi-diluted personality of his as well. As I said, I am a mix of the two, with slightly more Tom Riddle than Harry Potter, and that leads to a much different way of looking at the world than either of them would have had. Hagrid could be a very good teacher, seeing as he so loves the subject, but I am inclined to think he will be lax in class safety and warnings, read Aragog, and that his judgment, or lack thereof- please, read Aragog-, could get him, and his students, which unfortunately includes me, into serious trouble at a later point.

So, as you can imagine, it is with an air of resignation that I trudge down to his hut, hoping against hope that Harry Potter's faith in his old friend wins out against Riddle's cynicism. It's a constant war in my head, these two opposite viewpoints; the literal angel and demon on my shoulder. Damn, I hope the room can provide everything I require, because when I get to practicing blasting curses, doing outdoors isn't an option because of the whole "People think Sirius Black is after me" thing. I can hope, can't I?

Well, apparently I can, but it does little good. After another attempt my Malfoy to rile me up, Hagrid begins class, and already, he's crestfallen to find out that no one could figure out how to open the Book Monster, er, I mean, Monster Book of Monsters. The Harry Potter part of me winces when Hagrid tells the class he thought the biting menaces were "funny;" Riddle just crows in delight. And then we come to the main attraction; Hippogriffs.

The Harry Potter part of me volunteers to face his army of ticked off winged horses, as if to prove a point. Sure enough, the one I'm paired with, Buckbeak, eventually comes around after staring at me for a minute, the staring contest was so long that Hagrid actually got nervous, and I begin to pet him. He's gentler than I imagined, and suddenly, my apprehension towards the class diminishes… only to return in full when Hagrid basically forces me to ride Buckbeak.

So, while the wind slaps against my face, and I hang onto Buckbeak for my life as he rides through the air like a horse possessed, and I hope with all my heart to never repeat this horrible ordeal, the Riddle part of my mind imagines curses I could use to exact revenge, while Harry Potter works overtime to stave off the gruesome images. Really, a day in Tom Riddle's life shows that once he passed fifty, it was filled with enough violence and nudity to make Midnight Cowboy look like a children's movie by comparison. I really, truly hate Hagrid for putting me in this position.

When the Hippogriff finally lands, I really want to get down on all fours and kiss the ground for having survived… and then I realize that is a touch melodramatic… just a touch, though, because I am still alive, and apparently in decent health. Despite my discomfort, my success seems to have inspired the rest of the class to willingly follow in my footsteps. Oh those sad, sad, deluded fools.

Speaking of deluded fools, I am keeping an eye on my "cousin" as I've taken to calling Draco Malfoy, just to make sure he doesn't purposely try and sabotage this lesson. Yes, there he is with Buckbeak, and I am standing close by, with my wand drawn and pointed at him under my robes, just in case he decides to prove how big of a moron he is in public. Considering who we are talking about, I give him five seconds before he does something mortally stupid.

Low and behold, he does just that, by insulting Buckbeak. Way to go, arsehole! When the Hippogriff rears its talons, I wave my wand, and use the only spell I've practiced thus far, the summoning charm, to pull him out of the way… by summoning his tie. I hope his inability to breathe for a few seconds is a future lesson not to try any of this idiotic shite; I wouldn't count on it though- it is Draco Malfoy. And here comes Hagrid to prevent the Hippogriff from killing my cousin; such a shame, really. But as a bonus, Draco's freshly pressed robes are now completely covered in mud. While everyone watches Hagrid subdue the Hippogriff, and their fear and trepidation turns to reassurance that he has everything under control, I quietly stroll over to Malfoy, and bend down towards him, as he finally loosens his tie and his breathing returns to normal.

"Cousin, let that serve as a warning," I whisper in a low voice; maybe some heavy handed intimidation will go a long way to getting this ponce under control. Malfoy just glares at me as I continue. "I was watching you, and I know what you tried to do. Now to anyone else, it looks like you riled up the hippogriff and Hagrid's prearranged safety mechanism prevented you from coming to serious harm. So thanks for making my friend over there look good. We both know that isn't what you were trying to do, though."

"In previous years, I would have been happy to continue on with this pissing contest, and wipe the floor with your sorry arse. Unfortunately, you are no longer in my league; well, unfortunate for me, because that means I have bigger game to hunt." As you can imagine, only half this speech is getting through to him, and the other half just serves to get him angrier. "So, if you pull another idiotic stunt, especially one designed to get a teacher, who I like, fired, then they won't find your body." Here's a neat trick, stare someone in the eye while visualizing every cruelty you could inflict on them, and watch them tremble. It really works. "For now though, cousin," Ah, and there's that lovely grimace, "You aren't important enough for me to bother with; pray that doesn't change," I whisper sinisterly as I grab his arm and pull him to his feet. He would never want anyone to see it, but it takes him more than a few seconds to compose himself; mission accomplished… for now.

The rest of the lesson finishes uneventfully, and Hagrid assigns an essay on Hippogriffs. The general consensus is that it was a pretty good lesson, though some, like Hermione, are going to be reading the Hippogriff section in the Monster Book cover to cover, as Hagrid's information as pretty sparse. Still all things considered, the lesson was a success for him. And now, for the final obstacle standing between my training time: Ancient Runes.

I partially regret signing up for three electives, especially seeing as these classes cut into my free time. Still, perhaps, maybe, there might be something in one of these classes that proves useful… I rather doubt it. From what I have heard, our Runes class was originally supposed to take place at the same time as Divination and Arithmancy, but when I signed up, they did some juggling and made it an afternoon class; that's what I've heard, anyway.

Here I am sitting in Ancient Runes, listening to professor Babbling, an apt name if I ever heard one, go on and on about Runes and their use in language, and uncovering the magical practices of ancient magical societies. What she doesn't say, but would actually interest the class a lot more than her incessant yammering on Celtic script, is that Runes are also a primary component in the making of proper wards. Once a person has a good knowledge of magical symbols, they can be combined to create different kinds of defenses for different kinds of objects or locations. For instance, there are markings at the base of North Tower that translate from Gaelic to English as "Stand tall" and a combination of magical enhancements to support that very effect, and only a really strong magical counterbalance could ever disrupt that ward and possibly bring the tower crashing down. This is another subject I know better than the professor, thanks to the magical knowledge library in my head.

Wards are nice and all, but to build the most powerful set possible, a firm grasp of wandless magic, or at least, holding out your hand and letting magical energy pour out of it, is required. So while I can build basic sets, and feed it with magic from my wand, the best wards are years away from being constructed by yours truly. Oh, and how could I forget the critical ward stone; the magical material the runes are inscribed upon that then emanates the defense field.

Finally, at long last, Bathsheda Babbling stops talking, how did she make it through that monologue without water, and sets us all work in basic translations. For someone who ahs memories of doing this kind of thing over the course of twenty years, it is ridiculously easy. At the end of the class, only one student has completed the worksheet, and handed it in, and his name begins with "H" and ends "Harry Potter." Yes, at the moment, it feels good to be me. Still one of those days, though.

When I arrive back at Gryffindor tower, I drop off my books and only stop to grab my invisibility cloak. Thankfully, I have no homework that must be started immediately, which means more time to train. Having the two requisite items, wand and cloak, I head back out of the common room, and set off to the Room of Requirements.

It is a fifteen minute walk to the seventh floor where the room is located, but thankfully, I meet no one on the way. Finally, I pace in front of the slab of wall, imagining a room to train, and after the third time, the familiar door appears once more. I had considered detouring to the Chamber, grabbing a basilisk fang, and offing the cup tonight, but it's not like anyone else knows where it is, and training is my number one priority at the moment.

I enter the room, and am delighted by what I find. Moving dummies, practice ranges, spell-power meters, a bin of random nonsense I can use for transfiguration practice, potions-making equipment and ingredients, Arithmancy charts, Runic tables, and the back wall littered with books; it's perfect, absolutely, bloody perfect. Except… I close my eyes and concentrate, hoping against hope that the room can come through for me on this one. Tentatively, I open my eyes, and just barely resist the urge to leap into the air with glee. There, on the shelf next to the Runic tables, is a time-turner.

While time magic is very sensitive, and chaotic in nature, if I use this correctly, and don't try to push my limits, then this could translate into a lot of extra time to train. When I say a lot, I am talking about an accumulative amount in the months range. There is a reason I am near jumping for joy, after all.

Of course, when I say limits on time magic, I do mean limits. I can't just spin the time-turner, go back twenty-four hours, and train for an entire day; sleep and time magic are notorious for not mixing well. I also can't grab a bite to eat while I'm using it, as the effect of eating a meal while my body is in two places at once means- well, let's just say I like living. However, if I add six hours at a time, a night, then…

With a wide smile on my face, I pick up the time-turner and spin it back six hours, while grasping my cloak. Due to Cerveli's properties of time magic, an item I am wearing when I travel through time, even a magical one like the cloak, stays with me, but once the time magic ceases, only one copy, the original remains; hence, I can keep my cloak. I land back in time, down on the pathway to Hagrid's. I dawn the cloak, and begin to sneak to the room, passing my past self along the way.

A half-hour later, I am back in the perfect training room, ready to get to work. Hmm, so what shall I work on first? With a groan, I realize what I have to work one- the basics. I had trouble with the basics of most classes, like the matchstick into a needle exercise the first day of transfiguration; that's where I need to start.

With a sigh, I rummage through the bin until I find a pack of matches. Pulling them out, I begin turning them all into needles. The result is that after a few minutes of this, I am dog tired, because using my magic continuously for a long period of time is something I just haven't done before. After a few minutes of rest, I resume the exercise, taking it much slower this time so I don't burn out.

By resting periodically, and continually adjusting my technique, I can now easily do the first and most basic exercise of transfiguration. After finishing with that, I move on to other basic transfigurations, seeing as this is my worst wand-waving subject. When I finally check the time, after having gone over all the first year transfigurations, I am shocked to discover I have spent five hours on that subject alone. Oh well, I did kind of need the practice. Shaking my head, I put back the transfiguration stuff turn to studying charms.

Thankfully, I am much better with charms, and it shows. By the time the earlier version of me arrives in the room, and I hide in the corner covered by my invisibility cloak, I am nearly done reviewing my first year of charms. Maybe it's because I use those charms a lot more frequently than I do transfiguration. Once my past self goes back in time, I throw off the cloak and get back to work.

A half-hour more, and all the necessary charms work is done. I continue on reviewing all of my first year subjects, from DADA which is incredibly easy, to more obscure fields like Herbology and Astronomy, just so that a lack of knowledge or expertise in those areas doesn't come back to bite me in the arse later; which, knowing my luck, is a possibility.

I have three hours left before my time runs out, so I pull out the potions book, and set to work brewing a few potions I will need. One training technique Riddle used, for instance, was ingesting a magical affinity potion, which as you might guess, makes the user more susceptible to the effects of magic, and then casting spells, figuring that the increased volatility of magic in his own body would go a lot further to strengthening his power.

I also have growth potion on the fire, figuring that I can't look like a starved little kid forever. By slowly consuming it over time, I will grow to an average height, or, perhaps even above average, which would be nice, as I hate being short. It may, depending on the strength of the potion, begin to slowly reverse the effects of the starvation I endured when I was younger.

The last potion is a Magical Growth Enhancer- something that could get me a ticket to Azkaban. Basically, this potion reacts with the magic in my body, and while I am sleeping, exercises my magic for me. The only person I know who knows of the existence of this type of potion, and how to brew it is, wait for it, Tom Riddle, and he found it by accident, and used it throughout his teenage years. The reason this potion is illegal is because the effects of a potion like this on something as volatile a teenage boy's magic could cause a potion induced rage under significant stress. Considering that Tom used the potion for years, to his great advantage, I think I'm forced to as well, seeing as I don't want to be murdered.

After I finish the potions, and ingest them, I have one hour left, so I return to transfiguration, this time reviewing my second year material. Thank goodness that Riddle's memories tell me what I should know how to do at the end of second year, because otherwise, I would be clueless; my second year was kind of hectic, after all. Still, I don't get very far studying before I look at the clock and realize I have to get back to the common room and go to bed, or else tomorrow will suck. Grumbling about how I wished I could have gotten a lot further, I leave the room a little after midnight.

Thankfully, I don't have class tomorrow until ten, so I'll be able to sleep like a rock; because I am exhausted. Note to self: make sure to get plenty of rest for my extra training hours. Looks like I'm in for a rough couple of months; the things I do to ensure it will actually take effort on Voldemort's behalf to off me.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I'm Back! It's been a while, hasn't it? Don't answer. Well, things are still slow going, with work and whatnot, but I'm getting there. For those who didn't know, a computer virus destroyed my hard drive, so that meant having to redo outlines, notes, plot points, parts I'd all ready written, ect. I decided to take a new direction on this story when later plot points didn't mesh. I hope you all enjoy. I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter Four: "That Twinkly-Eyed Old Bastard"

"Come in, Harry!" The voice of that old bastard says from behind his office door. I cringe as I push it open and, fighting back my curiosity over how he does that, walk in.

"Good evening, Headmaster," is what I cordially reply. What I want to reply involves heavy use of words like "manipulative", "arsehole", and "bastard." Why exactly am I wasting a Wednesday night I could be using to learn more of the magical basics? Oh right, because the manipulative old bastard hinted rather heavily in the letter I received this morning that he knew something was up.

What that something was became apparent in the first sentence of his letter: "I hope after your rather trying first week you have perhaps come to terms with the enormous burden laid upon you." Well gee, that hints at something, doesn't it? The letter then went on to invite me to his office for a "proposal that would be mutually beneficial." So here I am, walking into the spider's web, figuratively I assure you, and missing out on a night of training- he did mention that "my regular activities would have to be postponed for this evening's discussion"- wondering how things went sour so quickly.

I mean, I finally broke down and talked with Ron and Hermione, and we agreed to something of a "Please stay the hell away from me!" truce. I finally finished correcting all of the stupid little mistakes and holes in my education from my first two years, such as reviewing the twelve elementary wand movements, and I was ready to perhaps review things from my first week, or even learn some new spells or something. I still hadn't resolved the social circle issue, but I was apparently juggling it well enough that even people I'd eliminated right off the bat, like dear cousin Draco, had taken to trying to charm me into their respective groups. And then this came along.

"Please Harry, take a seat. I suspect tonight's discussion will be rather lengthy," the Headmaster declares as he pushes a cup of tea towards me. As I take a sip, he pulls his wand, and with a few waves, ensures there will be no interruptions. By no interruptions, I mean heavy duty wards that would take me an hour to dissect even if I had learned everything Riddle knew on the subject. This is assuming I can hold off Dumbledore for that length of time to finally free myself. Damn, can the old fossil ward? Spider's web, indeed.

Trying to sound causal, which is perhaps a mite difficult when I consider that I am effectively trapped in an office for the foreseeable future with a wizard who could due Voldemort to a standstill at the height of his power, I merely ask, my most polite and innocent voice, of course, "What can I do for you Headmaster?"

Imagine staring at Dumbledore, the silver-white hair and beard flowing down his face, his blue eyes twinkling merrily from behind his trademark spectacles, as if he is examining your very soul with a smile, and perhaps passing judgment. Typical robe and hat- tonight both are light blue, and a posture completely at ease, with something like a smile of contentment on his face. Of course, the way his nose is, it looks slightly sinister; the textbook definition of a "cat that ate the canary" smile. Now reconcile this image with the fact that I am imprisoned in the room with said wizard, who also can draw his wand a lot faster than I can, and who apparently knows something I'd rather no one knew, ever, and maybe, just maybe, perhaps you can begin to understand why I feel like a fly caught in a spider web. Oh. Fuck.

Dumbledore apparently chooses to ignore my silence and self-absorbed thought. Hell, the fact that I haven't felt any kind of legilimency intrusion just sets me on edge even more, knowing that the aged Headmaster is so confident in his findings that he needs no more evidence. As if he had no need to hammer another nail into my coffin. Well, fuck it. "I guess the game is up," I shrug.

Oddly enough, Dumbledore's smile seems a little wider, a little more content and fulfilled. "Harry, the game never got underway."

Ouch, salt meet wound. Still, he doesn't seem ballistic, so that's good. Pissing off an angry Dumbledore is a surefire way to have a bad day. "Just for, eh, clarification purposes, you do know what I'm referring to, right?" I ask politely. "Or do you only know a certain extent, and I have to fill you in? Just to simplify any explanations you ask for."

Dumbledore is apparently amused with my attempt at subterfuge. Is it just me, or is he really fucking pleased with this entire meeting. Hell, he hasn't even needed to use his famous, "I'm your grandpa, and who can't trust their grandpa," smile. Rather, all of his smiling has been limited to the Cheshire cat grinning variety. I'm not going to be completely shocked if he disappears in front of me with a grin like that.

"Well, Harry, let me tell you the evidence I have, and the conclusion I have drawn, and see if we both concur," Dumbledore offers, except it's more like a "this will happen" undertone rather than a "perhaps this will work" one. "Now then, before you boarded the train to Kings Cross, you were unmotivated, clinging to your best friends with all the force you could muster, rather moderately talented but unwilling to devote your energies to academic activities, possessed of no amount of ambition, and in possession of non-existent occlumency shielding. Would you agree this is an accurate assessment?"

I nod without hesitation. Hell, I've already been caught, why prolong this?

Dumbledore takes a sip of his tea and then continues. "Now then, aboard the train you were kissed by a dementor, and yet retained your soul. As you have heard, this is an event that has never occurred prior in the history of Wizard-kind. I present that as Exhibit A. Exhibit B: after your miraculous reawakening, you had problems dealing with your emotions due to excessive use of occlumency. The result was that you had a lengthy conversation with the Sorting Hat, asked for a supply of memory potion, and then erected occlumency shields which defended you from a light legilimency probe I performed. The occlumency in particular was telling. Then of course we have the schism with your friends. Your performance in all classes thus far has risen noticeably, and you have spent a great deal of time in the library researching a wide variety of topics from Wizard Law to events of recent years. Finally, there is the matter of your continued excursions to a particular area on the seventh floor, where you arrive twice and leave once, and stay in that room for a cumulative total of about ten hours a day, yet manage perfect attendance in class. So, in a complete reversal, and a summation of my findings, you have become motivated, separated yourself from your friends, devoted all energy to learning, which also shows the extent of your newly acquired ambition, and have managed to erect occlumency shielding that is strong enough to defend against light probing from a rather powerful wizard. All of this occurring after enduring the dementor's kiss, and becoming the first person in history to survive it. So I believe my finings point in one specific direction, which leads me to the question: Am I dealing with Harry Potter, or Tom Riddle reincarnated?"

Okay, first of all, Dumbledore probably could have done well as a solicitor. Secondly, the evidence he presented is rather obvious in retrospect. Thirdly, his question at the end throws me for a loop. Okay so how full an explanation to give? Oh right, facing Dumbledore whose fully informed and trapped in the Headmaster's office; yeah, as detailed as I can get should do, maybe. "Well, as to the Tom Riddle or Harry Potter question, the answer is… complicated. I assume you knew of the bit of soul embedded in my scar?" Dumbledore nods, suddenly adopting a serious visage. "Well, the dementor sucked it out, leaving only remnants. Of course, when those remnants are a bit of magical power, personality traits of a mass-murdering psychopath, and memories of his life covering sixty-six years of existence, well… yeah, it's complicated. I have the soul of Harry Potter, and I'd say about eighty-something percent of my magical power is my own, but that still leaves a good deal belonging to the… soul dregs, for lack of a better term. Like a bit of his personality- hence the ambition. And I have a lot more experience seeing Tom Riddle act than I do acting on my own. So, I'm pretty much a mix. I suppose the decision of who I am is up to you, Headmaster."

I sit back and watch him ponder. He obviously knew a great deal of what I told him, but details always help in a case like this. Of course, I couldn't point you in a direction to research a case like this, so I might just be talking out my arse here. Yeah, at this point I'm just worrying where this situation leaves me. I mean, I know how interested Dumbledore is in destroying the V-man's horcruxes, so am I going to become his glorified radar?

"Harry, and I assure you I still believe you to be more Harry Potter than Tom Riddle, may I request access to your mind?" Dumbledore asks politely.

I really, really don't want to allow this, but again, the fact that I'm ensnared in the spider's web and facing down the most powerful wizard on the island convinces me otherwise. Reluctantly, I let my shields drop and beckon him to enter. At least granting him entry means he isn't blasting apart my shields to see my thoughts and memories.

You know, I've had many uncomfortable experiences in my life, touching Quirrellmort, being bitten in the arm by the basilisk, being kissed by a dementor; being mind probed by Dumbledore in his office definitely ranks. Finally after fifteen minutes of my head pounding like a bongo drum, he withdraws his legilimency probe, and I reactivate my shields.

"Apologies Harry, I know how uncomfortable being on the receiving end is. Suffice it to say, I didn't find what I was looking for, though you are correct in your estimation of what you received," Dumbledore commented.

Let's call this "throwing the old bastard a bone" shall we? "You didn't find the information on his horcruxes because I specially locked that information down so no one else could access it, just in case. The items and locations are as follows: Slytherin's Ring in the old Gaunt House in Little Hagleton, Slytherin's Locket in the cave by the sea- er, I don't know exactly where, but I could get us there- Ravenclaw's Diadem in Room of Requirements here at Hogwarts, Hufflepuff's Cup in Bellatrix LeStrange's vault in Gringotts, the dairy that has since been destroyed, and the portion in my scar now also destroyed."

Okay, there it is, a warm, genuine, grandfatherly smile. "And you don't think there's more Harry Potter than Tom Riddle in you?" Dumbledore asks mildly. I notice a sheet of parchment on which he is busily jotting down the information I've given him. He finishes writing, and deposits the information in his desk drawer, tapping it once with his wand as it closes.

"So, where exactly does that leave us?" I ask, genuinely curious, and certainly worried about what the answer might be. I'm basically gambling on the fact that Dumbledore has more use for me as an ally than a pawn- wait, can he differentiate?- and that I've taken steps to show how willing to cooperate I am.

Dumbledore laughs gently. "I'm surprised you aren't more worried. I know that if I knew what Tom Riddle knows about me, I'd distrust me too." I can't help it; a sharp look crosses my face. Why does he have to be so bloody annoying? "After all I've hired Severus Snape, placed you with the Dursleys, my school seems to transform into a deathtrap whenever you draw near. How exactly can you bring yourself to trust me?" He is genuinely curious; as if it's a concept he has trouble grasping. In case you're wondering, the votes are in, and the "Dumbledore's a manipulative Headbastard" option just won by a landslide.

"Because, if there's one thing Tom Riddle learned after multiple battles with your forces, it's that you always have a long-term plan. Cough* Lesotho* cough." Dumbledore's eyes light up at my allusion to his famous- in certain circles, anyway- Lesotho Plan. As I understand it, though my understanding is probably less than its mastermind, once the threat of Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters was detected, right after the beginning of the war, Dumbledore, over several months, managed to steadily convince Riddle the Ministry was much weaker than it was, by maneuvering things so that Riddle's forces faced the worst of the Ministerial forces, or slipping intelligence to their ranks that exposed "weaknesses" of the Ministry forces, and how estranged the Ministry was from the Order. Then, in the winter of 75, Riddle launched an all out assault on the Ministry, where he took heavy casualties because of the poor intelligence he received, the Order's timely assistance, and the Ministry's newly upgraded defense wards. Additionally, that the first time Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore dueled, and after the subsequent stalemate and realization of Dumbledore's strategy, he began to fear, really fear, what Dumbledore was capable of. To anyone who cared, it was known as the Lesotho plan, because Dumbledore lured in Riddle believing he was attacking something as defenseless as Lesotho, and then South Africa unexpectedly came in and drove them back.

The smile fades from Dumbledore's face as he begins to look uncomfortable. After several long moments of staring at me, he sighs, and refills his teacup. "Seeing as you have been so willing to place your trust in an old man, despite his many mistakes, I feel that I in turn must reciprocate." He takes a long sip from his cup. "You must have many… suspicions about my involvement over the years on your behalf, and I am going to tell you the truth, the whole truth regarding what I have done and intend to do, and all I ask is that you don't interrupt me."

I nod, positively dreading what he is about to tell me. "There are many parts of the story that you are probably aware of, but please, I say again, hold your questions until the end- if you are still willing to speak to me, that is." He takes one final breath, and then begins to, for lack of a better word, confess.

"Our story begins with the prophecy. I imagine you know the first two lines, but I have here the complete version." I watched him summon over his pensive and we dove into the memory of Trelawney's prophecy. We watch for a few minutes, and then we exit, the words still pounding in my head.

-"the one with the power to vanquish the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live will the other survives…"-

Dumbledore is silent for a moment. "Two children were born at the end of July; you and Neville Longbottom. You were placed into hiding, with Sirius Black as your parents Secret Keeper and the Longbottoms trusted Barty Crouch, the head of Frank's department, with his location. For whatever reason, and I still don't know it, Voldemort chose you-"

I can't help it, I just can't. "Headmaster, he tossed a coin." Dumbledore looks at me sharply. "I'm serious; Riddle tossed a coin and decided to let fate pick the bigger threat."

Dumbledore stares off into space, a very strange look on his face. I wisely decide to shut my mouth in the future. Finally, after a few moments of considering the absurdity of Voldemort's actions, he resumes his tale. "Anyway, Sirius… betrayed your parents and-"

Okay, I guess I don't have the willpower. "Sorry sir, but your intel is bad. You redid the charm in early October, right? Well, as is the tradition with the charm, you didn't see who the secret keeper was, and it was one Peter Pettigrew." Yes, as I expected, he is peeved at being interrupted so much. "Or at least, that's who reported my parent's location to Voldemort."

Dumbledore looks truly stumped this time. "You mean… Sirius-"

"Well honestly, I figure Sirius was in such a state that he did overpower his curse enough to inadvertently kill twelve innocent bystanders. Anyway, I figured the reason he was on his way here was to kill you, either because he's convinced you betrayed him, or my parents, or something," I admit. "Why didn't you pick any of this up from my memories, Headmaster?"

"I was looking for something else," he admits. Ah, the horcruxes; of course. "So Sirius…" he trails off, staring off into the distance once more. After another few long moments, he seems to put this out of his mind for the time being.

"Er, anyway, getting back to our tale, Voldemort chose Samhain, possibly for its magical significance, as the date of his attack." I nod, and Dumbledore presses on. "I once told you it was your mother's love that saved you. That is but a half-truth; I am… uncertain of what it was that saved you. All I know is that Lily had months to spend searching for something, anything, which would do the job. When Samhain came around, it apparently worked, though at significant cost. His soul at that point was so fractured, so unstable, that a portion of it split off and attached itself to the only other living being in the room. You."

"I sent Hagrid to retrieve you, and placed you with the Dursleys, as you know. What you probably don't know is that the reason this was necessary was due to Voldemort's soul fragment being embedded in your scar. There has never been a case in magical history where a living person has become a horcrux. Since I was- what's the phrase?- ah, yes, 'flying blind', everything I did was attempting to make sure the horcrux did not take over or begin feeding on your soul. For instance, having Hagrid retrieve you, with his magically resistant Giant's blood running through his veins, made certain that the Horcrux could not attempt to spread or feed on another source. You saw last year what happens when a horcrux finds a food source. Hence your Aunt and Uncle were the only place you could reside due to the protection of the blood wards. Though it is true that those kinds of wards are illegal, your mother's ritual did empower your blood, and blood wards work against all beings that are determined to harm you through magical means. In essence, Voldemort's soul could not attempt to take over your body due to the empowering nature of the blood wards, nor could any external threats make attempts against you as long as your residence was shared with your Aunt."

Dumbledore paused. "Of course, though my actions were all directed towards making sure Voldemort's horcrux could not take over… it's not to say that's all I accomplished. Though your childhood wasn't the worst of its kind I've ever seen, as your relations never physically abused you, well…" Dumbledore trailed off. "I could have, and should have stepped in, but by that point I was working as hard as I could to ensure that all of the Death Eaters our court system allowed free were unable to resume their, ehem, 'favorite pastimes.' By the time I was finally free and able to concentrate on you, and not the failure of the Wizarding Court system, the failures of the new administration, making sure former Death Eater were unable to find a new rallying point, or preventing them from having access to their favorite forms of 'entertainment', and then trying to reform Hogwarts, as the school suffered a decline over the course of the war, one I hadn't had time to rectify yet, my interference seemed, well, unnecessary."

Dumbledore waves his hands in front of my narrowing eyes. "Make no mistake, Harry: your childhood was awful, but by the time I had everything that was a higher priority than the 'Boy-Who-Lived' resolved to an acceptable level, you were already nine years old. When I finally did arrive and perform tests, I discovered that I was correct and the horcrux had not grown at all, signifying that the blood wards were working. The only way the wards would work at all was if your Aunt held some degree, however small it might be, of love for you. Considering the delicate nature of the wards, there was little I could do, and any of it might jeopardize all the work I had put into making sure the horcrux could not take over. Reluctantly, I left."

I cross my arms and watch the master manipulator continue to spin what may very well be his greatest tale. Is he telling the truth? Yes; I know Dumbledore well enough to tell me that he is attempting to be as honest and forthright with me as possible. Does it still piss me off? Hell yeah!

"Soon enough, it came time for one Harry Potter to come to Hogwarts. Seeing as I was having problems establishing communication, I sent off Rubeus Hagrid to act as a herald. Why? Well, one of the things I always took pride in was my ability to react flexibly to outside stimuli. In the years since Harry Potter had become the hero of the Wizarding World, there arose a certain whispered belief among certain members of the population that perhaps he could become the new rallying point. After all, if a mere baby could defeat the Dark Lord, well then perhaps he had the potential to be an even greater and more terrible master of the Dark Arts. Suffice it to say, if you had been placed in Slytherin, there would have been a great degree of danger, for both you and the Wizarding World. You, a young, naïve wizard, would have been tempted, though I doubt you would have given in. But if I was right and you didn't give in, then perhaps attempts would have been made to… dispose of you. And who was in better position to act in that scenario than your housemates? Finally, the house has such a stigma these days that your mere association would have led to your being ostracized from the other houses. So, considering these points, I chose Hagrid to deliver the letter, knowing that he has legitimate grievances with many members of that house, such as Mr. Riddle, who was behind his expulsion, as you know."

"I would like to emphasize Harry that I never held a wand to your head and said 'Do this!' After Hagrid warned you of the Slytherins, you still could have gone and been sorted there. You could have run away from the Dursleys. These aren't great options, mind you, but they are options. If you so vehemently disagreed with the choices I made, then you could have acted. What was stopping you from dialing Social Services, despite the potential consequences, while you were at the Dursleys? I never took away your freedom to choose. Rather, it is your choices that define you. I just wish to say that in my defense."

"I believe there is only one instance where I took away your freedom to choose: your first meeting with the Weasley family. I did not include directions to platform 9 and ¾ for you because I wanted you to meet them. Not because they are the best family ever, or a marriage contract exists or some such nonsense," the Old Bastard says, raising his hands in a defensive manner, after seeing that I am about to lose it and go for my wand. "Rather, because they were an old family and one of the few I could rely on. I debated either asking the Weasleys or the Diggory's simply because they know their way around the Wizarding World. Books and pamphlets are just not good enough to introduce young wizards and witches to this new world they could never have imagined; that is something I have advocated for years. Again, even though I chose to introduce them, you could met them once and then parted forevermore. You chose to continue interacting with Ron Weasley; I did not hold a wand to your head to force you to do so. Personally, I was rather surprised when I saw you and Mr. Weasley in front of the Mirror of Erised; I would not have expected that you would have shared your cloak so readily, that the bonds of friendship would already be so deeply rooted."

"As for your first year, I never intended for you to seek out the Philosopher's Stone. I realize how it looks in retrospect; I had Hagrid pick up the stone while you were there, I gave you the invisibility cloak, and your detention was in the Forbidden Forrest. However, the reason I sent orders along to pick up the stone that day was because I found that Quirinus was heading to the Alley that day. Seeing as the whole purpose of relocating the stone was to draw Voldemort's attention and dispose of his new servant, letting him beat Hagrid there would have been disastrous. As it was, Hagrid recovered the stone mere hours before Quirell had broken into the vault. On the matter of me giving you your invisibility cloak, well Quirinus had twice to that point made attempts on your life, though admittedly only once was he actually trying to harm you. I believed returning your family heirloom might save your life if another attempt on it was made. Finally, concerning the matter of your punishment in the Forbidden Forest, Minerva specifically asked for the harshest detention possible, she was that dismayed with your actions. After all, she did believe that you had tricked young Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Longbottom into leaving the safety and comfort of their common rooms for a few laughs. I only allowed her to select that detention because I had reason to believe that Quirinus was going to be in Hogsmead that evening. I did not yet know that his monthly 'Hogsmead trips' were in fact when he went Unicorn slaying. And I certainly did not intend to have you, a barely above-average first-year, face off against him. Rather, I set up the traps so that all were especially simple, except for the last one, which looked simple and straightforward, but would have kept Quirrell there all night. It was my intention to trap him, and then possibly imprison Voldemort's spirit in a specially built container for the foreseeable future. However, I failed rather spectacularly as despite my guesses and estimations, you, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger did in fact race after him."

He takes another sip of his tea before he continues to speak. "I also wish to address the debacle that occurred in your second year. Severus brought me information that Lucius Malfoy was in position to make a move against me. I did keep my eyes on the lookout, but the only thing that happened after the first few weeks, aside from your unusual arrival, was the slaying of the roosters. When Mrs. Norris turned up petrified, I finally had an inkling of what I was dealing with. I tried several methods to defeat the basilisk, and yes, I did know it was a basilisk, but the real problem was that I was the only one who had any way to defeat it eyes- Fawkes- and that would require me to be in the same place as it. Hence, a game of cat and mouse, which I lost decisively, ensued. In losing, Lucius managed to engineer my suspension. At that point, figuring that the basilisk must have access to some kind of exit to the Forest in order to feed itself, I went hunting in the forest. I was there the night you and Mr. Weasley confronted Aragog, and I stayed to cover your retreat, though I was surprised you didn't see me. Either way, the second young Ms. Weasley was taken into the chamber; I was back in the castle, and having failed so repeatedly to find the chamber, contemplating my next move when you returned with her."

"So ends my confession Harry. Did I have further plans for you? Yes. Did I think the horcrux meant your death was assured? Certainly. The only way I thought you might have a way to survive was if Voldemort used a ritual involving your blood to return, though, seeing as to the best of my knowledge, they are all beyond his ability, I was not willing to bet on it. Knowing that your death was almost a certainty, I worked to ensure your sacrifice would not be in vain. My plans would have turned you into a martyr, and, if everything worked right, reversed the path of stagnation the Wizarding World has chosen to this point. Consider this the oldest and darkest confession of a misguided old man, and I hope you someday choose to speak with me again," he declares sadly as he waves his wand and undoes the charms keeping me in his office.

Do I stay or do I go? Well, let's see: he has manipulated me my entire life, he placed me with abusive relatives, he inadvertently turned his school into a death trap, and he planned for my death and subsequent martyrdom… why haven't I left yet? Because I suppose I understand him.

All right, let's look at the situation from his point of view. He is Albus Dumbledore, already possessing the reputation he deserves, in the midst of the Order's darkest hour. He accidently comes across evidence that there is one, a "chosen one" if you will, who can defeat the Dark Lord. However, Voldemort also knows of this possibility, so he has to send his allies into hiding. His entire plan is to try and delay long enough so that this prophesized individual is strong enough to defeat Voldemort.

However, due to circumstances beyond his control, Voldemort discovers the whereabouts of both prophecy children and moves to confront one of them. He goes, he kills my parents, he's beaten, but I inadvertently become a horcrux. There has never before been a human horcrux. The idea of placing a piece of your soul, fractured by murder, within the confines of another person… it's unthinkable to even the darkest of the Dark Wizards. Something as corrosive and destructive as Voldemort's soul- the diary is proof of what I'm talking about- well, I was in very real danger. Enter blood wards.

The nature of blood warding is so delicate that anything that interferes with the anchor, my Aunt in this case, could potentially destroy the wards- such as a compulsion charm. Or, if my Aunt detected any interference, such as a compulsion on my Uncle, she could choose to evict me- also destroying the wards. But as long as the wards stayed strong and active, no matter what condition I was in, then Voldemort's soul could not take over. Honestly, my childhood sucked, to put it mildly, but I don't care anymore. It's so distant, such a far away time… it's like the old phrase "One day, twenty years from now, we'll sit around and laugh about this." Considering what I've just gone through, it's more like seventy years. And I'm not possessed by a fragment of Voldemort's soul, which I am happy about. Fuck it, I'll give him a pass here, because I can see the logic of what he did, and if I were in his shoes, I probably would have acted in a similar way. The alternative, having to kill the "Chosen One" so the soul fragment couldn't take over, is much less desirable.

Well if I'm giving him a pass for trying to make sure V's soul didn't take over, then what can I say about his plans for my death. First of all, it's not like he's actually trying to kill me. Knowing Dumbledore, if he was certain I'd have to die to end the threat of Voldemort, then he would have done everything possible to maximize the effects of my sacrifice. Hence the keeping me alive until the opportune moment aspect of his plan. Secondly, I can already imagine this isn't a decision he made lightly. He saw that the death of a young boy was necessary for the defeat of a Dark Lord. I had a piece of his soul in my scar; as I've said "uncharted territory." When I say I know Dumbledore well, I do mean that I have seventy years of memories, many of which deal with interacting with the man from the viewpoint of his worst enemy; I think I know him well. I know he considered alternatives, I know he devoted countless hours to testing and experimentation, and I know he explored alternate means of extrication and destruction of the horcrux. Seeing as every avenue of inquiry resulted in failure, he resigned himself to my death. He resigned himself to using my sacrifice as a way to try and combat many of the ills and bad habits of Wizarding Society. In the end, he resolved himself to the death of one, poor, insignificant, prophecy child, for the lives and souls of millions of people in the Wizarding World. I say again, I would have acted similarly. Once more, I give Dumbledore a pass, ecause I would have to pass myself.

So, if I can understand where he's coming from on both of these points, than I can certainly understand his failings during my time at Hogwarts, right? Actually yes, I do understand. Okay, let's start with the Philosopher's Stone itself. A one-of-a-kind magical item, required by goblin treaty to be kept within the confines of Gringotts in order to avert fears of an economic crisis- read between the lines- that was temporarily removed, after what I imagine to be intense negotiations, to prevent it from falling into Voldemort's hands. Of course, such an item can easily become the perfect bait, as happened. I was never supposed to be involved. The Chamber of Secrets was a similar situation. Dumbledore didn't plan on my involvement. Every indicative sign I have on the man says the same thing; I involved myself despite his plans. Were his plans horrifying, potentially lethal, and full of holes? Hell yes, but they always seem to work against a guy like Voldemort. Simply because I wasn't supposed to be involved, I can let this point slide.

Manipulative? Well it seems like I'm covering old ground at this point. I already know this. Dumbledore believes firmly in "nudging" people in the direction he wishes for them to go in. He has never held a wand to a person's head, used the Imperious, or anything of that sort. Blaming Dumbledore for all my failings means that I'm willing to ignore all the times you listened without hesitation, didn't suggest alternatives, and was content with what information I received. If, for instance, I was dead-set on becoming a Slytherin, I still could have, despite Dumbledore's suggestions. The old man has long since harnessed the power of suggestion, and he uses it to great effect, but above all, his power is not absolute.

By this point, I've already decided to let bygones be bygones. Not forgive him, no, no, no! Rather, leave all this as water under the bridge and start anew. I acknowledge that if I were the man in charge, I probably would have acted in a similar manner in many of these situations. Besides, being angry at him doesn't do much for me going forward. He is still my Headmaster, he still has contact, resources; all things I'll need against Voldemort. Snape is an example of a person who never truly moved on from petty schoolyard grudges. After spending years in his classroom, can I honestly say I want to be like him? Maybe someday, I can afford to get into a pissing contest with the old bastard, but that'll also be the day we're standing over Riddle's corpse. Until then, I think I can hold my peace.

I draw my hand away from my wand, and take the opportunity to refill my teacup. Dumbledore gazes at me curiously as I take a sip. "Make no mistake, I'm angry… but I understand."

All the aged Headmaster can do is raise his eyebrows incredulously at the thought that I might actually be willing to put aside my differences, rather than trying and failing to never speak to him again. As I remain sitting, he begins to realize that yes; I actually meant what I said. Finally, after several tense moments where I pay more attention to sipping tea than any person should ever have to, a wide smile appears on his face.

"I am willing to work with you Headmaster; to an extent, of course. You have betrayed my trust, but… Voldemort is a much more important issue than how I feel," I reiterate. "So, though I am still angry, I am willing to put aside my grievances."

By the time I finish, Dumbledore's eyes are twinkling, a serene, grandfatherly smile graces his face, and it looks like the weight of the world has been lifted off of his shoulders. Personally, I feel a bit better about the whole thing; maybe it's me, but working with Dumbledore against Voldemort seems like a much more appealing idea than working against both of them. Plus, I still have some leeway- if circumstances change, I can change with them, right? Either way, I feel good for getting this bullshit resolved.

Dumbledore clears his throat after he sees my attention is elsewhere. "I don't wish to test your already fragile trust so soon, but I think we need to call in Severus." Why? Oh fuck, why? Words just aren't good enough to respond with, so I reply with the most smoldering glare I can muster, letting him know that all the progress we made has just been thrown out the window.

Okay, fuck cooperation, fuck being mature- we're not doing this shit! This is Severus "Greaseball" Snape, Death Eater extraordinaire, spy son-of-a-bitch who sold out the prophecy, who wanted my mother as his plaything- Fuck That!

I am about to stand up and wash my hands of the entire deal when Dumbledore holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Harry, knowing what you saw, I understand perfectly why you might possess little love for Severus. But there is more to the story- I assure you. That's why I want Severus here, to head off this problem before you two have wands at each other's throats. I assure you, I am not forcing you to like the man, merely hear his side of the story… as I heard yours."

Right about now is when I wish I could get some of Riddle's darkest curses working; I'll probably never again possess the raw amount of hate required to use them. You know what? I'm going to stay, let Snape spin his tale, and then behead him; a compromise everyone except Snape can live with. That's kind of the point.

Wordlessly, I signal an okay- once more Dumbledore's face lights up in a broad smile as he raises is wand and fires off a Patronus to summon the greasy-haired bastard. I take another sip of my tea- I don't even like it- wishing this meeting could stop moving at a snail's pace.

Dumbledore's finished sending off the message, and he resumes his thoughtful pose. "There is another issue we must tackle: what to do with you." Once more, he raises a placating hand, and once more I yield the floor. "You are a thirteen year old celebrity possessing the knowledge of one of the most brilliant and dangerous Dark Lords in recent history. Can I assume that you have made progress over the past week in getting a handle on the situation?"

You know that old expression "It's not the poison, it's the dose?" I'm hoping that that dosing him with this much honesty will do wonders for me in our future dealings. Well, let's continue with that trend. "Well, most of the week was spent using the memory potion to process Riddle's memories. I finally got that done by Monday, and that's when I began putting what I knew into practice. For the past few days, I've been filling in gaps in my education from my first and second years. Tonight, I thought I was ready to move onto new material, before our meeting came up."

Dumbledore beams. "Excellent to hear, Harry! I assume that you have no wish to hide your talents, correct?"

I nod. "I was mediocre and talentless the last two years. Now that the chance for greatness has literally been thrust in my lap, I think I'm going to take it this time."

"Admirable, my boy, admirable; I am glad to hear it. Of course, when questions arise, we must have an answer prepared. Hmm, let me think on this. So Harry, to cover so much material in a short amount of time is a feat that I don't think could have been accomplished without significant aid. Additionally I have detected some changes- in your magic and such- that I am… curious about. Care to elaborate?" I think we all know by this point that his requests aren't requests.

"Well sir, as you may know, I've been using the Room of Requirements. The advantage of using a magical room that can grant you access to whatever you need is rather apparent. Consequently, I've been using a time turner the room provided to double the amount of hours I can practice. Additionally, the room grants access to potions ingredients. So I've been ingesting three potions, the magical affinity potion, a growth enhancer, and-" Okay, Chief Warlock here needs me to deal with the Dark Lord infestation, so I really have no fear providing him the information he wants "-a magical growth enhancer; a potion of Riddle's own design." Dumbledore raises his eyebrows.

"Hmm, I assume you know the dangers associated with that potion?" he asks politely.

"I do, Headmaster, but Riddle used it to great effect and without the potion, I didn't think I would ever have a hope in matching him," I admit.

Dumbledore leans back, once more in deep thought. I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking here. I have demonstrated a thorough willingness to cooperate, that I am willing to give him what he wants, that I'm working hard towards matching Voldemort. To this point, he has wielded the stick, but seeing as the man has always been a bigger fan of the carrot, I am starting to expect some kind of… incentive for future cooperation.

"Well Harry, I must say I am rather concerned. After all, that potion does possess rather unsettling drawbacks. Would you be willing to consider alternatives?" he asks.

Yes, negotiations have begun. It takes every bit of prowess I have with occlumency to muster the innocence my reply needs. "What alternative are you suggesting, Headmaster?"

"Well, Harry, in my youth, I did dabble with such things. Many friends of mine have also… dabbled. I am certain we can find an alternative that does not hold such drawbacks," he replies.

"I'm not sure I agree, sir. I mean, while my potion does possess a huge negative, it is also very much responsible for Tom Riddle's strength today," I reply, adding inflections of stubbornness.

"Now Harry, I understand you need every advantage, but I have access to a few… alternative formulas that you can ingest without the side-effects. In fact… perhaps we should consider a more extensive potions regimen. You have taken excellent initiative, but perhaps… yes, well, I'll consult with Severus and see what he thinks," Dumbledore trails off.

"Is that necessary, sir?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. Of course I know it's necessary, but what I really need is for Dumbledore to lay all his cards on the table as well. I actually do like the idea of a more thorough potions regimen- I had been considering this but decided against it after gauging my prowess in the art of potions- provided I know where Dumbledore stands on the matter. What I really need to find out is: what is his plan going forward?

Granted, I am sure that my becoming a stronger wizard is part of his plans. But there are many details I am uncertain of: is he going to adopt a more offensive strategy and actually pursue the horcruxes, or is he going to continue monitoring the home front and preventing the Death Eaters in hibernation from growing stronger? Is he going to bring anyone else into the loop, or is he playing our cards close to the vest? I mean, he has many associates- Alastor Moody, Horace Slughorn, many among the Hogwarts staff- who could give him assistance if he needs it, right? So how is he going to approach this?

Dumbledore leans back, looking calm and collected. "I'm sure you understand the necessity, Harry. You have now become the most important factor in all future plans. You see Harry; I am not as young, as spry, as powerful as I used to be. The events of the past few years prove something I wish I need not acknowledge; I am losing my touch. The decisions I have made in recent times have been… questionable. I fear I am no longer as capable as I once was. When Voldemort eventually returns, I fear I will not be strong enough to hold back the darkness. That is where you come in."

"Even after all this time, our society still tries to place me on a pedestal; recognize me as a paragon of virtue and a bastion of goodness. The truth Harry is much harsher: I have only ever been a man, not a god. I have done the best I could to steer our society in a better direction, and I am uncertain that my best was ever enough. Even now, the hordes are trying so desperately to rip apart the little in the way of reform I have been able to encourage. Today, my name is held up as a symbol, but tomorrow, the hordes might succeed, and I would be cast aside. Knowing this, I have to acknowledge that my time has passed. I look to you to be the symbol of the future. I shall do all I can to prepare you to take up the mantle."

I have to admit, I am rather flattered that he has such high hopes for me. At the same time, the thought that I'm being groomed to be the new "Leader of the Light" is also incredibly frightening. To be frank, I'm not a hero; especially not like Dumbledore. He has many flaws, as do I, but he has been fighting for nearly a century, both on the battlefield, and on the political stage. I don't think I could ever assume his role. But perhaps we should leave that aside for now; there are more pressing concerns than my lack of faith, such as his plans.

"I understand, sir, but what are we to do going forward?" I ask gently, hoping we can come back to this topic later.

Dumbledore sighs; the departing elation leaving him a withered shell of a man who looks tired beyond his years- if that's even possible. "For now, we must focus on you. In the meantime, Tom's horcruxes must be destroyed. Aside from that, we must do our best to delay his return as long as possible. Everything else is secondary."

"So what do you intend to do with my training?" I ask, curiously, perhaps some eagerness seeped into my voice.

"Sadly Harry, we must put this conversation of hold for the time being, as we should not keep Severus waiting any longer," Dumbledore replies as he flicks his wand. He composes himself and smiles at the door. "Come in, Severus."

Into the room walks the bat himself, a typical "I-hate-you-all" sneer firmly in place on his ugly face. "You summoned me, Headmaster?" he asks softly, not even sparing me a glance.

"Yes Severus, I did. Have a seat, please," Dumbledore says as he conjures a chair next to me. Snape's scowl seems to deepen as he swiftly sits.

"What can I do for you this evening?" Snape asks softly.

Dumbledore smiles gently. "Harry and I were having a most interesting conversation. I have learned exactly how he was able to stave off the Dementor's kiss," Dumbledore begins conversationally.

"Then I suppose this isn't about a request for Veritaserum. Pity. As curious as I may be, I do have other tasks to perform, Headmaster," Snape replies impatiently.

"I understand Severus, and that is why I shall be brief. The reason Mr. Potter survived is because the dementor did suck out a piece of soul- but not his own. Rather, the Dementor feasted on the fragment embedded in his scar," Dumbledore explains.

Snape's eyes widen, and his face seems to become even paler, if that is possible. "I see. And this concerns me?"

"Well Severus, if you are unconcerned about Harry possessing Voldemort's memories, and knowing many details you would be… uncomfortable with, then by all means, see yourself off," Dumbledore answers swiftly.

The greasy bat suddenly seems to notice my wand pointed at his head. "You gave my parents to Voldemort, Death Eater Scum!" I growl.

Snape suddenly seems to be aware of exactly how deep a pile of shite he's in. Yet, he does nothing to move away, or disarm me. I expected him to go ballistic, to start ranting about how arrogant my father was, or some such nonsense; I expected anything but Snape lowering his head and acting ashamed. "I deserve this," he says quietly.

"No Severus, you do not. As I have been trying to impress upon you for a while, every day you work towards atonement. Harry deserves the truth," Dumbledore replies softly.

"What truth? That he was obsessed with my mother? That he asked for the Death of a Hogwarts student because she didn't like him? I must be missing something, Headmaster," I reply softly.

Snape seems to sink lower and lower in his seat with every syllable I utter. Dumbledore stares at me levelly. "I suppose everything you say is true… from a certain point of view." He turns to Snape. "Severus, now is the time when the truth must be known. Please give me a copy of the relevant memories," Dumbledore commands as he summons over his pensieve.

Snape stares at the pensieve for a long moment, as if considering. Reluctantly, I lower my wand, and place it back in my pocket. Snape turns slightly and stares at me. Finally, he pulls his own wand and puts it to his temple. "Please don't hate me," he mutters as he removes the memories Dumbledore wants me to see, and places them in the pensieve.

Dumbledore gestures to the pensive. I stare at him, not knowing what to say. He seems to genuinely believe these memories excuse Snape's crimes. He seems certain that Snape is someone worth defending. I glance back at Snape, seeing a mere shadow of a man. Reluctantly, I nod, and dip a finger into the pensieve at the same time Dumbledore does, and we dive into a world of Snape's memories; not somewhere I'd consider a happy place.

I emerge some time later positively floored. I could never have expected… I guess I really was wrong about Snape. I glance at the man who seems to be cowering before me. "Are you all right?" I ask gently. Suddenly, he doesn't seem to resemble a greasy bat quite as closely as he did before.

I don't completely forgive Snape, but I do understand, and I sympathize. His only friend, the one bright light in a gloomy childhood, the only one he could count on to care, and he lost her to his own anger and hate. And he was accused of something that he was to blame for, but did not cause- the Samantha Franklin incident.

Samantha Franklin was a Ravenclaw in Snape's year. Towards the beginning of sixth year, she and Sirius Black started going out. She was also one of the few students who could give Snape a run for his money in potions. Since they were both in NEWT Potions, legitimate competition, and she was dating Sirius, they did not get along, to say the least. She was also a muggleborn in the heyday of the Death Eaters. So one of Snape's friends, Christopher Mucliber, who already had strong ties to the Death Eaters, took the initiative, and did what he thought was a favor for his friend. He asked his other "friends" to "eliminate the competition." It is how it sounds; over Christmas break, she was killed along with the rest of the family, and the Dark Mark left over the house. Naturally, Sirius Black lashed out at Snape, who was so close to becoming a Death Eater it showed, and who hated his girlfriend. So he ended up luring Snape to the Whomping Willow to be Remus Lupin's new chew toy; only, my father dragged him back at the last minute. Naturally, such a dark chapter in Hogwarts history has since been covered up by the appropriate oaths, but still, now I know the full story. It also cost Snape his last chance to apologize to my mother when the story hit the Hogwarts gossip network, and destroyed any future employment prospects for him.

That also forced him right into the Death Eater's outstretched arms. He steadily rose through the ranks, and then, by chance, he heard the first two lines of the prophecy that fateful night. He told Voldemort, who eventually decided it meant the Potters, which forced him back to Dumbledore. He did take great risks to life and limb to try and keep my parents safe, and for that I am grateful. I've already settled one potential grudge tonight, let's settle another. Is he an arsehole of the highest caliber? Certainly. Are there bigger fish in the sea? Well, off the top of my head: Lucius Malfoy, Walden Macnair, and Adrian Yaxley; all of whom are free. Severus Snape, Dumbledore's spy, his man through and through, is not a threat of that caliber.

"You are certain all the memories you have shown me were not constructed? He is a Master Occlumens, after all," I point out, though I'm pretty sure Dumbledore has checked them over several dozen times.

"I am certain, Harry," Dumbledore answers with an aura of infinite patience.

I glance back at Snape. What is there for me to say to Snape after all he's experienced? "I'm sorry for ever doubting you," I mutter softly. I'm really not, but I think I can feign emotion well enough that he'll never know. I had plenty of legitimate reason to doubt him, so why should I be sorry?

Snape nods, still apparently unwilling to speak. As we sit silently, the awkwardness factor seems to multiply by five every ten seconds. Finally, I decide to try and defuse the situation.

"So now that we've established that I've got Riddle's memories, you're a manipulative wanker, and Snape is actually trustworthy, if still an arsehole, what exactly is our plan going forward?" I ask the room at large. Hey if Dumbledore and Snape are too caught up in their thoughts, Fawkes might at least give me a response.

Dumbledore ignores my language, even as Snape begins to berate me for my language. Thankfully, while he is irate, it's more like he's back to his old self, which is something I can deal with, at least. The price, twenty house points; as good a price for dispelling this awkward situation.

Finally, Dumbledore's faculties seem to have returned, and he's ready to address the matter at hand. "As I said, Harry, you are the centerpiece to our future plans. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

Snape glares at the Headmaster for having the ball thrown into his court. "Yes, the boy has potential!" He spits that last word as if it's a curse. "Clearly his head has deflated, if only a tiny bit, and he actually seems to ready to do something other than act like a dunderhead."

Dumbledore ignores Snape's tirade. "Excellent. So Harry, clearly our priority must be getting you up to speed. If we use the most optimistic timetable available, then we have perhaps a five year gap before Voldemort next returns."

I wince, five years hardly seems like enough time to face down Voldemort. Hell two decades doesn't seem to be enough! "And what is our least optimistic time table looking like?"

Dumbledore frowns. "One of Voldemort's servants fleeing the country while our attention is otherwise occupied," he answers, and I wince again. "So as you can see, we have a limited timeframe to get your abilities up to speed." He turns towards Snape. "Severus, Harry has already demonstrated a… willingness to do whatever is necessary to prepare for the coming war. I trust you can supply him with the potion regimen he will need."

"Of course, Headmaster," He replies in a silky tone. He chances a glance at me. "I don't suppose this… regimen should include potions of a more… dubious nature?"

"Certainly Severus; we will need Harry in prime condition." He turns back to me. "Now Harry, I want to make this clear: you're our only hope for defeating Lord Voldemort. Naturally, considering all I have put you through thus far, I am already rather heavily indebted. All I can say is that I will do my best to repay my debts."

He withdraws a few pieces of parchment from one of his desk draws, and starts waving his wand over them. After a few moments, words appear, and he passes the half a dozen sheets over to me. "Read this and tell me what you think, please," he commands.

Curious, I glance down, and my eyes widen when I read the heading on the first page: "Contract of Apprenticeship." Dreading what I'm about to find, I check the names filled in, which only serves to confirm my worst fears. He wants to take me as an apprentice!

Did I agree to let sleeping dogs lie, to forgive him for his past sins? Yes! Do I want to put myself in a position where he has more opportunity to repeat his mistakes? Hell no! So what exactly am I supposed to do now?

"Why should I agree to this, Headmaster?" I ask acidly. "Haven't we already seen that this isn't a position I should allow myself to be put in?"

Dumbledore smiles gently. "If you would read the contract, Harry, you would see that this is the most liberal apprenticeship ever allowed in the history of apprenticing. I have seen what happens when I blindly adhere to a vision of the future and work towards it under the banner of the Greater Good, which is why there is little to nothing in the way of restriction placed upon you."

"As to why you should agree to this, well off the top of my head, I have a few good reasons. First, I am the proclaimed "Greatest Wizard of Modern Times". Even though that is greatly exaggerated, I do know much of magic, perhaps even more than Mr. Riddle discovered, and would you really want to rely solely on his memories? Secondly, I don't know if you've heard, but I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts. As in, the magical school with a comprehensive library built from rare texts collected around the globe. Including texts one among the student body would not have access to otherwise. Thirdly, I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and as such, I have connections: cursebreakers, arithmancy masters, aurors, hit-wizards, Unspeakables, simple bureaucrats, experts in any field you might ever want to study. So, as you can clearly see, I have no idea why an apprenticeship with me might tempt you," Dumbledore finished dryly.

Okay, that level of sarcasm kind of hurt. Yes, he does have connections, access to many of the rarest tomes in existence, and knowledge of magic that is on par with Riddle, though in admittedly different areas, and it is very tempting but… okay, I am tempted. Hesitantly, I pull the contract towards me and start to read it over.

It actually is very liberal. Granted, I couldn't talk about what he would be teaching me, but I don't know of the apprenticeship where that would be allowed, as it goes against the very spirit of the process. Unlike many other apprenticeships, I wouldn't have to forgo all of my worldly possessions. No social restrictions. There's nothing much in the way of activity restrictions. It is an indefinite contract, however, so it could only end when Dumbledore says I'm ready, but then again, there isn't anything so strangling that I'd be affected if this continued for a decade or more. Really, there's almost nothing that would impact me negatively other than the allowance for Dumbledore's interference into my life. Let's face it- he'd do that anyway, so if it's going to occur regardless, shouldn't I at least get something out of the deal?

Maybe I'm selling out here, but this certainly seems to fit the bill of "An offer he can't refuse." Does Riddle have an immense knowledge of magic that will make him a right bastard to fight? Is that fight going to be made an easier when I face him as a less polished copy of himself? Dumbledore is offering me use of his immense resources in turning me into a warrior who can face down the Dark Lord, and granted, there are dozens of strings attached, but… I'm tempted.

I lean back. "I'm tempted, I really am. But I want an iron-clad guarantee that you're not out to screw me over. So, I'll accept your offer if," I gesture to Snape, "I can receive an Unbreakable Vow."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rise. "What's the wording of the Oath, Harry?" he asks softly.

"How about this: you vow to not attempt to harm me deliberately in non-apprenticeship matters, to cease any and all manipulations against me that are to my detriment, and to do everything in your power to keep the secret of Tom Riddle's memories," I suggest.

Dumbledore takes my jumble of words and after several rearrangements, turns them into an oath I can agree on. "Severus, will you consent to be our bonder?"

Snape nodded as he withdrew his wand while Dumbledore and I touch hands and adopt the required pose.

"Albus Dumbledore, will you promise to never deliberately plan or attempt to harm Harry Potter, outside of apprenticeship matters?" Snape asks softly.

"I will." He declares in an equally soft tone, and a tendril of snow white flame erupts from Snape's wand and wraps itself around both our connected hands. Hey, at least it doesn't burn.

"Will you cease all, and restrain yourself from enacting any other, manipulations against Harry Potter that are to his detriment?" he continues.

"I will." Another flame tendril joins emerges from his wand, as it interlinks with the first.

"Will you take the secret of the specific memories Harry Potter possesses to the grave unless he otherwise allows you to tell a person or group?" He finishes.

"I will." The third and final tendril issues forth and joins the first two, before they burn hot a second and then vanish.

As we get to our feet, I'm seriously considering turning down his offer of apprenticeship, now that I have my vow, just to see how he likes manipulations enacted against him. But then I realize that me being a Snape is not going to help when Big V inevitably returns and wants my blood. In regards to Snape: respect some of his choices I do: the man himself I don't.

It must be the Tom Riddle in me that's able to ignore all of this bullshit thrown my way at the hint of power to be gained. I mean, this is what Tom Riddle must have dreamed of, but never been willing to ask for. It isn't just that Dumbledore is going to be teaching me, but also that word of this contract will eventually hit the public.

I once said Tom Riddle lacked for charisma, didn't I? Well, what I meant was that Tom could charm the pants off a person, but he figured half of his ability came from his position. After all, being the Head Boy, smartest student at Hogwarts, and self-proclaimed "Prince of Slytherin" goes a long way towards convincing people to listen to you. In retrospect, he probably should have continued this pattern once he left Hogwarts, because it worked brilliantly, but noooo, he had to become a Dark Lord! And the thing about Dark Lords is that there's a certain group of people who'll listen, but everyone else will be pretty adverse to discussion.

Well, now, I can talk, and I have a position that can ensure that, whether people like me or not, I am listened to. Of course, that theoretically can work both ways, but really, I can't imagine the winds of public approval blowing away from Dumbledore. Maybe my imagination sucks.

I pick up the contract and a nearby quill. "So sir, when will we be meeting, and what will we be covering?" I hold the quill over the first place in the contract that requires my signature, waiting for his response.

"Harry if I were to say 'a little of this, a little of that' would you curse me?" Dumbledore asks amused. I nod my head vigorously. "Well, as to the first question, we shall meet three times a week, never the same days of course, and our first meeting will be tomorrow night. As to what we'll be covering, well: Occlumency, Legilimency, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Warding, Rune Carving, Spell Creation, Enchantment, Magical Gifts and Abilities, Parselmagic," Okay that's interesting. Despite all his efforts, Thomas only found a bare minimum on that lost art, and discarded most of it because it had to do with healing, and really, why would he have a need for that? But Dumbledore isn't done speaking. "Some Healing Magic, Alchemy, Elemental Magic, and perhaps some Wandlore," Dumbledore fires off in quick succession. "Of course, that isn't all we shall be covering. I still owe you for the twelve years of suffering I put you through. I think the repayment of that debt will work its way into our lesson plan at some point. Additionally, there are some areas you will need access to which I am not gifted at teaching. For all of your Dark Magic and supplemental Potions needs, for instance, Severus is at your disposal." Grease Ball scowls at being drawn into this. "And while I could teach you Dueling, I think you would learn a great deal more if say, Alastor Moody, were to handle that aspect of your training to a certain degree."

Once he finishes, it only takes me a split second to begin signing the contract. Dumbledore beams as I willingly sign his right of interference in my right. Maybe I sold out, okay, I definitely sold out, but this is Albus Dumbledore, and I see no surer path to future freedom than working with him for now. So though this might hurt… will hurt, I can take some comfort in knowing that this is all part of the plan; a newly concocted plan that will one day see me strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

I finish signing the contract and pass it over to the Headmaster, who quickly signs his portion as well. Finished, he hands it to Fawkes, who disappears in a flash of fire; apparently the Pheonix has been listening in. A few seconds later, he reappears, trilling something along the lines of "The contract has been delivered." I guess I can expect this story in the Prophet in a day or two.

I stand finally, "I look forward to working with you, Headmaster," I declare in the best 'pureblood' voice I can muster.

"I as well, Harry. But now, its bedtime, so… off you trot!" He smiles. I stand and make my way to the door, leaving Snape and the Headmaster to have a 'chat.' I can only hope the specifics of the potions he'll be brewing for me are among the topics of discussion. Only after I leave, close the door behind me, make my way down the stairs, and walk a few corridors on to one where all the portraits there are deserted, do I feel secure enough to mutter something I'd been thinking all night. "That Fucking Twinkly-Eyed Old Bastard has chutzpah," I mutter as I walk off towards Gryffindor Tower, intent on at least knocking off some of my homework so at least the night isn't a total loss on the growing stronger front.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Part of this chapter, you will know where, coincides quite accurately, or rather dovetails, with a part of chapter seven from Prisoner of Azkaban. It is needed to show similarities and differences, but I would like to assure those concerned that it is specifically taken out of the text or paraphrased, and is not my own work. Then again, I am writing fanfiction, which by logical elimination is an extension of someone else's work. I don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you all enjoy this. Thank you for reading and reviewing.

Chapter Five: The Bat, the Wolf, and the Severely Disturbed House-Elf

In the magical world, where communication can be almost instantaneous with the aid of a Protean charm, messages can be quickly sent across great distances via owls and the floo network, and face-to-face conversation can more easily occur than in its mundane counterpart because of apparition, how exactly has it taken the Daily Prophet so long to begin delivery to me? Is it an unreasonable question? Over the weekend, I paid for a subscription in order to keep up with current events. As I walk into breakfast Thursday morning, the night after coming to an accord with Snape and Dumbledore and forming "The Unholy Trinity", I wonder if I will finally start receiving my copy of the paper. Every day I miss out is a day there could be something- an event, a quote, a rumor- that signifies a sudden return of the dark. Prior to Voldemort's eventual return, there will be signs, disappearances and the like, and I only hope I can catch the warnings… which I can't do unless I have a more information; in this case a copy of the Prophet.

On the bright side, all of the homework I had was finished last night, so I got something accomplished besides endless conversation. Plus my deal with the devil, figurative speak I assure you, at least has things are looking up. But like I said, the Prophet is my gateway to the outside world, the one indicator I have of which way the wind is blowing. I can only hope this morning they manage to finally deliver.

I'm munching on a piece of toast down at the end of the Gryffindor table with Neville when the flurry of owls arrives. I look up, hope blazing in my eyes, and… low and behold! There, a tawny barn owl is headed my way, a copy of the prophet dangling from its legs! Sure enough, it lands in front of me, and I retrieve my copy before the owl takes off again. And then I look at the headline.

**Albus Dumbledore Takes On Apprentice**

-ICW Sources indicate that Albus Dumbledore has taken Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, as his first, and likely only, apprentice.

By: Thomas Bletchley

I skim the article, already knowing its contents better than the reporter, silently dreading the fallout from this. I glance up, locking eyes with the Headmaster, expecting something, anything other than him raising his glass in a toast, a gesture otherwise unseen in the entire hall. I subtly look around, wondering if anyone else has noticed. And then I remember that this is Hogwarts, and thus, the majority of the school is unconcerned with events outside the wards. Especially at 8:30 in the morning. Or maybe that's my eternal optimism speaking, because sure enough, there are people glancing in my direction, well more-so than usual, and up at the Head table, all of the teachers are in busy conversation, with many of them looking in my direction.

I should have realized, well maybe I subconsciously did, what this would mean for me in the short term. During these last two years, while acting "heroic" in many regards, I did nothing much to prove how talented I was. And now I'm Albus Dumbledore's apprentice. Any form of scrutiny will turn up my average grades, and perhaps the closer relation I've had with the Headmaster than any other Hogwarts student in recent time. Does that sound like a particularly favorable conclusion for others to draw? Anyone wishing to discredit me would only have to point to my apprenticeship, my grades prior, and then quote something from Severus Snape and put it all under the heading "Blatant Favoritism."

Which shows that I need to do something to prove myself here, but… okay; I'll hold off and chat with Dumbledore tonight. For all I know, the wily old man already has a plan in place to erase all doubts. If I've learned anything, in the last twenty-four hours, it's exactly that; he always has a plan. Nonetheless, in the short term, I'm going to be under a great deal of scrutiny, from both peers and professors.

Done with the Headline of the day, I begin flipping through the Prophet, looking for anything that might prove an omen or opportunity. Aside from an announcement that Fudge has promoted Amelia Bones to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, there is really nothing else of interest. The only reason that's of interest is because Fudge has to do some reshuffling in the wake of the Dementor scandal, and the old head was already on thin ice after the Sirius Black breakout. Honestly, and maybe it's just the Prophet crucifying Charles Millington, the old DMLE head, this guy sounds like an incompetent jackass. Of course, he might have actually been the best guy for the job, and the Fudge propaganda machine is just laying all the blame at his feet, which is a rather disturbing thought. Come to think of it, one of the few things Fudge has going for him is the best political propaganda machine in decades. If that is in fact the case, I privately wonder if they could pull off a similar hatchet job on, say, my reputation, if say, he was served. It is truly a chilling thought.

Well, I've gotten everything I needed out of the newspaper, so where was I? Ah yes, Neville Longbottom. Whether or not he becomes a friend in the future, I do see him as a good… investment. He is the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, the Longbottom heir, for whatever that's worth, and an unexplainably poor student. Well, I guess it could be explained; maybe having his parents tortured into insanity has something to do with it. But Neville is pretty much alone, with no one, not even his family, to rely on, and a legacy of promise. So perhaps if I spare a kind word here, help him out there, and let him know that I believe in him- even though I probably won't ever actually do that- he might one day come into his own, and then I'll have gained a loyal wand at my side for pence on the pound.

Hey I have to start somewhere, and what better place than with disenfranchised wizards and witches who potentially won't have anywhere else to turn? That's why, despite how much he creeps me out, I'm going to try and spend some time with *gulp* Colin Creevey, and hope he has some bona fide talent to go along with his irrational hero worship. It also means that I might potentially reopen the Hermione can of worms in a few months, after letting her digest my transformation, but that's a scenario so far down the line that I need not spend any more time thinking about it.

Amazingly enough, there are lots of people who really don't fit in with a group of other students, which is surprising because that was how it was in Riddle's day, everyone associating with a group, and that was how I thought it was going by my experiences these last two years. Granted, there are major groups, such as the Hufflepuff boys in my year, and the Slytherins in general due to the hostile climate of the school, but I've already found three potential investments in my own house, actually four- Katie Bell might prove to be an asset- and I'm sure I can find a few more. It's a page right out of Dumbledore's playbook, and one that's served him all too well in Tom's opinion. Rather than drawing these people in with threats, blackmail or coercion, a kind word here, a helping hand there, a favor done once in a while, and a few pushes in the right direction, and I too might gather a group of followers with power and exclusive loyalty towards me.

I take a last mouthful of toast as I see Neville rise from his seat. I follow him out of the hall, hoping that I can pull this off. "Hey Neville, how's it going mate?" I ask calmly as I come in from his blind spot, a trick that makes it look like I popped out of thin air, and otherwise knocks a mark off balance.

Neville looks startled that a guy like me is actually giving him the time of day, and there's something, ah, a puppy's hopeful face that this time he won't get kicked. It quickly disappears as he resigns himself to the fact that this is probably something at his expense. "Fine," he finally mutters.

"You got your things for Herbology?" I ask in concern. He nods, wondering where the joke is going to come from. "I know it's a little early, but are you ready to head out?" He slowly nods again, still not getting it. "Then let's go," I offer with a smile as I head towards the front door.

"Er, right," says Neville as he keeps pace with me, still doubting my sincerity. Hey, he has good reason, right?

"So, seeing as your great in this subject, do you have any idea what we're covering today?" I ask, not really that curious, but hoping to get Neville talking.

It seems like Neville can't help himself; a small grin appears on his face. He lowers his voice a tad, "Er, professor Sprout told me we're having a review class today."

Interesting, apparently Neville does have someone he can rely on. Good, if he already trusts one person, it will make this a lot easier. Perhaps I'll explain why later. "Yeah, I can see why. Considering the last couple of years, I'm pretty sure a lot of material went in one ear and out the other for a lot of students. You're a member of the Herbology club, I take it?"

Neville still seems hesitant, but he does nod. We continue walking towards the greenhouse in a rather awkward silence. "What's your game Harry?" he asks quietly. I hadn't quite expected that he'd become so cynical so quickly.

"No game, Neville," I reply after a moment of forced hesitation. Reply too quickly, and the mark will never believe that nothing's up. "I realized the other day that I really didn't know much about you, and yet you seem to be a stand-up bloke. I just thought we could hang out a bit, you know? I mean, you're really great in Herbology, and despite what Snape might say I'm a fair hand in potions, so I thought, for today at least, we could pair up and see if we can work together. It's just… well," The pauses make it work I assure you, "I don't… really know anyone else I'd want as a friend." Seems silly and hardly believable? Well you may say so, but Neville seems to believe me, so this load of shite actually works.

Neville slightly goes pink at the thought that I want to work with him; that I actually want to be friends with him. And yet, I'm pretty sure he still doesn't believe me. "Sure Harry," he mutters, still a bit embarrassed. Finally, we arrive at the Greenhouses, though Neville stays by my side chattering about random plants.

As Neville said, this class was mostly review; after all, when the attacks last year intensified, no one really cared about how to properly harvest or pot whichever magical plant the day's class was on. I walk out of Herbology towards Potions, with Neville still at my side- he was really impressed with how much I knew about plants- and he seems to withdraw back into his shell. I don't notice it until I remember that Neville fears Snape, probably because the way he looks and acts subconsciously remind him of the tragic event in his past. Snape's demeanor screams, "I am a giant bat- fear me!" which is unsurprisingly unsettling to a boy with Neville's past.

We have a quarter of an hour to get to the dungeons, so I decide it's time to administer a little "brotherly" advice. "Neville, I know you hate potions, and believe me, I understand why, but this is a subject you should be good at. I mean, you already have half of the required knowledge in plant properties. Believe me, I know firsthand how big an arsehole Snape is, but you need to pull it together, mate." He doesn't look convinced, and I don't blame him; not one of my better pep talks. So we walk into the castle in silence as I try to figure out a way to salvage the situation. "Maybe, think of it like a Herbology assignment?" I suggest. Damn, we're almost near the dungeons. "I mean, you know with Herbology it's all about knowing the right instructions and preparing the plants and soil so that the plant grows up happy and healthy, right? Well this is the same thing, isn't it? Just, maybe read over the instructions a few extra times a pay extra attention to ingredient preparation and you'll do better. I know that will work." Well what do you know; Neville actually seemed to accept that. Yeah, for improvisation.

We arrive outside of Snape's dungeon with a few minutes to spare, and almost everyone else is there; including my least favorite cousin. Like I said, since I cut ties with Ron and Hermione, Draco actually seems to be less of an arsehole. Granted, there's two years of bad blood, but then again, there's also seventy years worth of what I can remember where he doesn't even enter the equation. If I'm trying to undo my idiotic mistakes of the past, then perhaps having some form of relationship with my cousin that isn't a glorified pissing contest is a good idea.

Sure enough, Draco doesn't even come over and taunt me, or try and converse with me, though he's still willing to take shots at Ron. And before long, the bat himself makes an appearance and ushers us into his classroom. Let the fun begin.

When the class begins to pair up to work on Shrinking Solutions, Snape does raise his eyebrows at my working with Neville. But no childish taunts, so things are looking up. Neville seems to be taking heed in my advice, and he's actually focused. Of course, with what I know, I do make a suggestion or two to him, seeing as he's been put in charge of ingredient preparation, but our Shrinking Solution is actually starting to resemble a Shrinking Solution, and this seems to do wonders for Neville's disposition. And then, as we enter the stewing phase of the potion, Seamus opens his mouth.

He asks me if I heard about the Sirius Black sighting not too far from Hogwarts. No, I didn't which makes me think I better go back and read the paper more carefully, lest I miss anything else important. Of course, this starts a slew of chattering about Black, which causes Snape to flare his nostrils. Meanwhile, I'm busy making sure that the news doesn't affect Neville and cause him to inadvertently ruin our acceptable potion. After all, he has a bad history with Blacks and their relations. It takes nearly the rest of Potions to sufficiently calm him down to the point where I can think about killing Seamus, slowly. Mess with my schemes, will he…

With five minutes to go, I look up at Snape, who is making his rounds, trying to see his reaction to the news so I can make sure Dumbledore relayed my findings. He glances my way, we lock eyes, and… a sharp poke enters my mental defenses. I quickly try and dispense with all emotion and hold back the legilimency attack. After a few seconds, his brutal attack recedes, leaving me with a message. _"Potter, the Headmaster requests you for seven this evening. And yes, the Headmaster did inform me of recent developments regarding Mr. Black."_

You know how if you're poked in your arm or your leg enough you eventually don't really notice it? Well, nobody but a Legilimens can poke you in your mind, and Snape doesn't possess Dumbledore's touch for the art, so when I say poke, I mean poke. Thankfully, I do have some scar troubles in the past that have helped to condition me to a degree, but still, that hurt.

Finally, Snape walks by our table; I'm not meeting that bastard's eyes anytime soon, and he pronounces our potion acceptable. "Perhaps, Potter, the Headmaster did not take a complete leave of his faculties in making you his apprentice," Snape mutters softly, but not softly enough that Neville and Hermione- who's working right next to us- don't turn their heads to stare at me. Way to go you Greasy Motherfucker.

I ignore the looks those two are throwing my way as I pack up my potion's supplies. Seeing that Neville is done as well I swiftly walk off once Snape dismisses the class, knowing he'll follow. I'm pretty sure I've already show Neville enough willingness and sincerity- however faked it might be- that he trusts me a lot more than 95% of the people he knows. Sure enough, he catches up to me pretty quickly. "Harry was what Snape said true?" he whispers urgently.

I give him one of Dumbledore's patented carefree smiles, hoping I can pull it off. "Which bit, Neville? That the Headmaster is taking leave of his faculties?"

"N-no, not, well," Neville splutters as I withdrew my copy of the Prophet from the bag and show him the Headline.

"It was never a secret Neville, just like what happened to your parents isn't either," I reply, wincing when I realize what I just said. I think I just tossed away an entire day's work with that Ron Weasley like comment. Yeah, I was going for some angle where I could subtly hint I knew about his parents, and then pour on the sympathy and understanding. That was a mistake.

Neville turns white and is about to storm off when I react quickly and grab his arm. "Listen, Neville, I didn't mean that as an insult or anything, just that if you look in the right places, you can find out certain things. So yeah, I do know, and I wanted to offer my condolences and ask if anything can be done," Come on, come on, accept it. Please buy it. Don't let everything I've worked for come undone.

"No," Neville utters, looking defeated. It's probably still difficult for him, even after all these years of being use to it. "I just…"

"I know, and I thought the same way too about my parents. Why am I special because a psychopath didn't inflict the same tragedy on me that he did my parents? You have nothing to be ashamed of," I whisper. I think I'm the only guy in Hogwarts who could possibly understand. Or at least that's the angle I'm going for

Neville looks down. "My gran is always saying I should be proud, I think, I think…"

"She's trying to revive her son through you or something?" I suggest, having an idea of how Augusta Longbottom might react. "Your wand? Hand it over a second, please?"

He hands it over without hesitation, signaling that I have made great progress in turning Neville into an ally. I turn it over in my hands, realizing that I once held this very wand. In one of his confrontations with the Longbottoms, Lord Voldemort managed to disarm Frank Longbottom before he ended up portkeying away after recovering it, and I hold the same wand in my hands.

"Why do you have your father's wand?" I ask as I hand it back.

Neville doesn't even notice that I know whose it was without his telling me… which is assuredly a good thing. Wow, I'm getting sloppy. "My Gran said it would be good enough for me," he mutters.

"Did you get sparks or anything from it?" I ask, already knowing the answer. Neville shakes his head. "Well, that might be why you aren't doing well in wand-waving classes. Learning magic with a wand unsuited to you, well you saw how Ron did- we need to go to Diagon Alley and get you a better match."

"But my Gran-" Neville protests sadly.

"Neville," I begin reproachfully, cutting him off. "Haven't you seen how much better Ron is doing in class with a wand that isn't sparking all over the place or fighting him? I guarantee that if you get a new wand, you'll see better results." I could have a made a decent case that this is what his Gran really wanted, and I could have made it seem believable. After all, she wants Neville to bring honor and glory to the family, and he isn't going to achieve that with a wand that doesn't work properly for him. But I let that point rest.

Neville stares at me. A second, ten seconds, a minute. Finally he nods and looks away. "All right, when can we go?"

"After lunch," I reply. Like I said, I can improvise. By clearing my schedule and showing that he is a priority, I hope to reinforce that, though this friendship is fast developing, it is worthwhile for him. Hopefully, being the key word.

"What?" Neville asks, thinking he misheard me, as we make our way into the Great Hall.

"After lunch," I repeat. "Look, I'll go clear it with Dumbledore, wait here."

I approach the Head Table with everyone else ignoring me in favor of their lunch. Or at least that's what I thought at the time. "Headmaster, Neville Longbottom needs a new wand," I declare softly once I reach him.

The other professor's are too absorbed in their own conversation to notice a casual chat between the Headmaster and the Boy-Who-Lived. Again, that's what I thought at the time. Dumbledore merely nods for me to continue. "He's using Frank's," I add, hoping he'll get the jest of my meaning without me saying anymore.

Dumbledore nods. Let me guess, he already knew that. "When are you going?" he asks casually, and I realize that he is actually giving me Carte Blanche to do this. Well at least I know that he trust me, or at least my judgment.

"After lunch but before this afternoon's DADA lesson," I reply. It occurs to me that many people would be uncomfortable allowing this with Sirius on the loose, but then again, the Headmaster and I know the truth, and Black is apparently close to Hogwarts anyway.

"Excellent initiative. Might I suggest that you also have your own wand checked over to make sure nothing has changed?" Hmm, I have noticed my connection with my wand has become weaker, though it didn't seem to be an issue. Or maybe I just didn't care enough- I can be pretty damn lazy after all. Maybe I should ask Ollivander to examine it.

"I will. Thank you, Headmaster," I finish as I walk away. "He's agreed, Neville," I say as I sit down next to him.

"Really?" he asks with shock easily detectable in his tone.

"Yeah, come on, eat quickly, and we'll use the Floo in McGonagall's office," I add as I dive into my lunch.

Twenty minutes later, we're sprinting up to her office, having seen her head back that way. Making good time, I gently knock on her office door. "Come in," She shouts from inside.

I push open the door letting myself and Neville be seen. "Good afternoon, professor, Neville and I need to make use of your floo, with the Headmaster's permission."

Her nostrils flare; I guess she was informed, and doesn't approve. "Where are you headed?" she asks brusquely.

"To Ollivanders via the Leaky Cauldron," I answer politely, her tone grating on my nerves. I drop my bag by the door, and Neville imitates me. I notice he's looking anywhere in the room but McGonagall. Hmm, must be some tension there. Understandable I guess; I've shown more concern for him in one morning than his head of house has in two years.

"And why is that?" she continues her inquisition.

"I am certain if you were to ask the Headmaster he would tell you, but if he hasn't, well, I could not divulge what was discussed in confidence," I swiftly reply. Screw it, I spent my last few days building bridges; the way she's acting, this is one that needs to be burned. Besides, that seems to win points with Neville, and he is my priority right now.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. I am concerned with all my students and-"

"You're track record the last two years proves you aren't and the Headmaster's concern supersedes your own, thank you," is my reply as I stride forward and take her bag of floo powder. I admit it; I am also pissed with her because she's proven to be pretty useless when I needed help in the past-flashback to the Philosopher's Stone. And like I said, she doesn't seem to have done much for Neville either, I notice. And for some reason, she's obviously ticked that the Headmaster has taken an interest in me, so I guess I'll treat her as she's willing to treat me.

I quickly throw the powder into the fire, ignoring McGonagall's spluttering outrage, and usher Neville forward while shouting "Leaky Cauldron."

Amazingly, I arrive on my feet in the middle of a busy Leaky Cauldron right behind Neville. Though I'll be damned if I know how that's possible; the landing on my feet thing. Thankfully, its busy state means we won't be noticed. Soon, Neville and I are walking down the street towards Ollivander after politely greeting Tom. The barman is always a good friend to have. The old barman, Sean Travers, eventually one of Voldemort's marked Death Eaters, filled the gathering information about passing along to Diagon Alley information role for many years.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather," he declares as Neville and I enter his shop. Even Tom could never quite figure the old wandmaker out- not for lack of trying.

I nod politely. "Thank you Mr. Ollivander. Mr. Longbottom here would like to purchase a wand, and perhaps you'd be willing to examine mine."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter, certainly. Let's get Mr. Longbottom his wand first," he says. I nod, and then spend the next twenty-five minutes watching Neville try and fail to find a matching wand. At least he's not close to matching my time; I must hold the record for most rejected wands.

Finally, Neville finds a thirteen inch Cherry wand with a Unicorn hair core that accepts him. And then I hand my own wand over to him. "I've noticed I've been getting worse results after the events of last week," I reply casually.

Ollivander takes it and examines it closely for a few long moments. "Yes, Mr. Potter, I can see the problem. The connection has weakened." He sighs. "You were such a difficult customer that I'm not sure what I can do for you in the time you have. As it is, your wand will still work for you, but not as perfectly as it should. All I can suggest is that you purchase a basic book of wandlore and hope you miraculously come upon a solution, or come back another day when you have more time on your hands."

Hmm, Voldemort doesn't have much on wands and wandlore. "I'll take that book if you have it." He retreats into the back rooms and returns with a dark green dusty book. Perhaps it'll tide me over until I clear my schedule and get back here.

"That will be twenty galleons for the wand and the book," Ollivander says. I shrug and hand over the amount due and take the book in my hands, and Neville has a grateful look on his face for his new wand.

Soon we're back in the Cauldron and standing in front of the already paid for Floo. Hmm, I forgot that we can't just Floo back to Hogwarts; high security alert and all that. What to do, what to do? "Follow my lead, Neville," I whisper right behind me. "Three Broomsticks," I shout as I step into the flames.

I reemerge with Neville right behind me at the popular Hogsmead pub. "Sorry mate, I forgot that we couldn't just floo back to Hogwarts. Don't worry, I know another way in. Follow me." We walk to Honeydukes as I decide to utilize one of the many passages Tom found during his time at Hogwarts. He found it in his fourth year, and he used it to smuggle in "commodities" that the upper years desired, which ended up winning him a lot of acclaim and influence in Slytherin. We sneak past the shopkeepers and into the basement and I reveal this elusive secret passage to Neville.

It is a long walk back to Hogwarts, but eventually Neville and I emerge from the statue of the one-eyed witch with a few minutes to spare before class. Retrieving our books, we both hurry to DADA, arriving just in time for the bell.

Neville, who had spent a lot of the way back thanking me, chooses a seat next to me at my table with, urgh, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. I notice Remus Lupin glancing at me, but not in a hostile way. Good, maybe this year the Defense professor won't end up attacking me. 'Course he is a werewolf, so that doesn't work in his favor.

Actually, I'd be more impressed if he weren't completely incompetent. Really, between Lockhart and Quirrell, I don't imagine my fellow third years have much more in arsenal than perhaps the leg-locker jinx and a tripping jinx; and maybe one or two of the other "kiddy" jinxes that work against schoolyard opponents. But either way, for third years it's a rather pathetic referendum on the state of DADA.

"Good afternoon. Would you all please put your books back in your bags? Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands," Lupin declares.

I grimace at Neville as I put away my books. "What's wrong, Harry?" he whispers concerned.

"Remember the last time we had a 'practical' lesson," I whisper, and after a few seconds he sports a matching grimace on his face.

"Right then, if you'd follow me please," Professor Lupin says once everyone else has finished packing their books away.

"What do you think Harry?" Neville whispers.

I think all of the time and energy I've spent today on you is turning into a good investment, Neville. Out loud I reply, "I'm guessing this is regarding some creature we might conceivably run across in the castle. Maybe it's a lesson on poltergeists or something?" I joke.

Except, that as we turn a corner, we run across Peeves, and I start to wonder if maybe that is what Lupin is doing. If so, then that's something that could go south just as fast as Lockhart's pixie assault. Here's something you didn't know about Peeves; he was Tom Riddle's ace-in-the-hole when he was at Hogwarts.

Yeah Peeves was always a pesky motherfucker, but Tom Riddle was the first, and to my knowledge only, person to keep him well in supply. Dung-bombs, Filibuster Fireworks, the works; everything a poltergeist could ever hope for. Of course, Tom, being the treacherous motherfucker he is, intended to use the poltergeist's new reign of chaos as a cover for finding the Chamber of Secrets, and then, once he found it, he tried to sic the basilisk on Peeves to prevent their deal from ever possibly going public. That was when he learned that the basilisk's stare can't kill the already dead, only petrify.

Oh, and Peeves is taunting Lupin. Bad move Peevsie, bad move; in the history of confrontation between Peeves and adults, Peeves only wins if he's facing off against Argus Filch. Sure enough, the gum he was stuffing in the keyhole of the broom cupboard rockets out of it and into Peeves nostril. Ah _Waddiwasi_, a good charm for defense in certain enviornments. For instance, if I were to be involved in a duel in one of these corridors, and my eyes happened upon some kind of object lodged in a doorway, be it parchment or gum, I could cast the charm- this tactic only works when the spell is used non-verbally- and that object would soar at my opponent. In most cases, an opponent would assume that someone has come to my aid and is casting spells at their back. That second of distraction could be crucial for firing off a finishing spell. Oh, and I also know that Lupin has good aim.

I'd expected the man to be off his game. His robes are shabby, he's a werewolf, and he lost his best friends which left him alone twelve years ago. Yet, the man I see is calm, collected, and in charge. I'd have thought that the transformations coupled with the stigma would have kept his skills rusty as he traveled from place to place for work, or he'd thrown his lot in with werewolf packs in the intervening years after the war. Well, if he truly is on his game, and it's not just an act, then maybe Defense won't suck this year. I don't need it, I'll have two teachers giving more instruction than most have gotten in the last two decades combined, but when Voldemort returns, I'd rather not my fellow schoolmates become mere fodder.

We resume our trek down another corridor before we come to the staffroom. Lupin beckons us inside, and who should I come face-to-face with but the greasy bat himself. We lock eyes, and suddenly I feel another thrust of legilimency. I quickly retreat behind my occlumency walls to weather his assault. After a few seconds it recedes and I receive another message. _"You are aware of Lupin's… condition?"_

I nod, and he turns his attention away from me. "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this," he declares softly as he gets to his feet. He gets up and strolls to the door with the trademark billowing of his cloak when he turns on his heel and stops at the doorway. "As I'm certain you've heard, Lupin, this class contains Harry Potter, the Headmaster's new apprentice." Seriously, does the Headmaster want him to spread the news or something? Because giving out information so freely and with nothing to gain is not his style, and we all know Snape's Dumbledore's glorified messenger boy. Lupin's eyebrows rise; apparently he didn't know; thanks again you greasy motherfucker. "One really has to wonder if he has the mettle for such an honor. Maybe you will see what I am referring to over the course of this class period."

Lupin is about to reply, but I beat him to the draw. "Now, professor, surely the Head of the Noble House of Slytherin possesses some degree of tact? It is invaluable to your line of work, after all. But clearly, I'm not the only prestigious wizard in the room whose character is in question."

Snape's lip curls slightly as he leaves, shutting the door with a loud snap. I think I won round one, but only just. I guess it's time to see if Lupin is any good at bypassing awkward situations.

"Now then," says the good professor as he beckons the class towards the end of the room, where stands nothing but an old wardrobe where the teacher's keep their spare robes. With the amount of Potion's accidents Snape has, I'm betting half of it is filled with his spares. Suddenly, the wardrobe wobbles a bit, banging against the wall. I'm giving Lupin full marks for the "bypassing awkward situations" category, by the way.

"Nothing to worry about," says Lupin calmly, "There's a boggart in there."

"Oh," I voice aloud. "Why hasn't the Hogwarts staff disposed of it, sir?" I ask professor Lupin.

"I asked the Headmaster if they would leave it to give you all some practice," Lupin explained. "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces like gaps under beds or cupboards or," he gestures to the dusty old eyesore, "Wardrobes. I've even met one that lodged itself in a grandfather clock. So, the first question we must ask ourselves _is_, what is a boggart? Your thoughts please, Mr. Potter."

Hmm, I'm sensing Snape's comment has made him curious. Was that his intention? "Well, in one sentence: a boggart is a shape-shifter. They have sensory abilities so that when we come into contact with someone, they will assume the form of our worst fear, a spider or a certain potions professor, for instance." Lupin looks tempted to take points off, but he nods. I'm not finished though; here's one to throw him for a loop. "Of course, considering the nature of the boggart's ability to sense its surrounding and figure out exactly when it needs to shapeshift, no one knows what they look like in original form. Though it does make for a rather interesting philosophical question: what is a boggart when it is not a boggart?"

Lupin smiles at me, clearly seeing that's Snape's comments are unfounded. "Exactly right, Harry. This boggart isn't in sight of us, and thus it doesn't know what form to assume. As Harry said, no one knows what a boggart looks like when it's not in a form designed to terrify us. When I let him out, however, he will immediately become whatever each of us fears most. This means that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it Harry?"

Child's play, another easy question. "Safety in numbers professor. When it attempts to become that which each of us fears, it will be wracked with indecision over whether to become a huge spider, a terrifying mummy, or a monstrous banshee, and the result will be comedic rather than terrifying."

"Precisely. It's always best to have company when dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake- tried to frighten two people at once and transformed into half a slug. Not remotely frightening." Lupin turns his attention to the wardrobe for a second.

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a form that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… _riddikulus_!"

"_Riddikulus_!" The class says together.

"Good, very good," says professor Lupin. "But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. I need a volunteer." He scans the room before his eyes lock onto the person next to me. "How about you, Neville?"

"You'll do fine, Neville," I whisper. "Listen to him and this will be a piece of cake." Neville smiles slightly and nods as he goes to the front of the class. He looks incredibly nervous, but it seems that my investment is already paying dividends as there isn't the usual hesitation, the usual fear, in his stride.

"Right, Neville," says Lupin once Neville stands in front of the wardrobe. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Neville thinks for a second, before replying "Professor Snape" without hesitation. Oh yeah, I'd forgotten just how horrible the greasy git was to him the last two years. Well, looks like he's about to get his just desserts.

The class laughs and Neville grins sheepishly, still trembling slightly, but Lupin looks thoughtful. "Professor Snape… hmmm… Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Er-yes," Neville replies. "But her form doesn't really amuse me."

"No, you misunderstand me," Lupin says now smiling; a prankster smile if Fred and George's are any indication. "I wonder could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"

Neville looks startled, but then, after a moment of staring off into space, he smiles, having caught on. "Always the same hat: a tall one with a menacing stuffed vulture on tip. And a long green dress, well usually, and sometimes a fox-fur scarf… oh, and a big red handbag."

"Right, can you picture those clothes clearly? Can you see them in your mind's eye?" Lupin asks in quick succession.

"Yes," Neville says, a true hint of joy evident in his voice, probably picturing his sweet vengeance against his most hated professor. What goes around comes around, grease ball.

"When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," Lupin says. "And you will raise your wand- thus- and cry _Riddikulus_- and then concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into the vulture-topped hat and green dress, while swinging that big red handbag."

The class laughs in unison, causing the wardrobe wobble a mite more violently. "If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," Lupin explains. "I would like you all to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…"

Well, that silenced the room. So what do I fear most? Immediately, the answer hits me. Dementors? No. Dumbledore? No. Lord Voldemort? Close, but still no. The answer is Tom Riddle. Ah, not just any Tom Riddle, but rather a Tom Riddle who is just as dark and malicious as his counterpart, but who still retains his sanity: Minister Tom Riddle. And the answer for defeating it quickly hits me.

I picture a homeless man, collecting tin and all, my Uncle once badmouthed during a car ride as we zoomed past the street corner he was on. I picture his tattered worn shirt, his dirty and ripped pants, the collectors tin and sign next to him "Will Work for Food." Boggart, meet Minister Tom Riddle… the down-on-his-luck beggar. Maybe others won't find it amusing, but knowing how much Tom loathed potentially sacrificing his good standing and carefully crafted character will be enough to make me laugh at the irony.

I finish and look around seeing how my peers are doing. As I suspected, Ron is thinking of a spider, and how to make it look funny by removing its legs. Funny what an encounter with Acromantulas will do for a person with arachnophobia.

"Everyone ready?" Lupin asks the class. The class as a whole nods and they all begin preparing themselves for their encounter with fear.

"Neville, we're going to back away," Lupin says, "And let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward… everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot-"

We all move back until we're up against the opposite walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looks a little frightened, but there's also a look of determination as he holds his new wand at the ready.

"Om the count of three, Neville," says Lupin, pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One- two- there- now!"

A jet of sparks shoots from the end of his wand and hits the doorknob, and the wardrobe busts open. Emerging from it is a duplicate of our favorite hook-nosed, sallow skinned potions professor. He steps out, his eyes flashing at Neville.

There is a moment of hesitation, and the Neville shouts in a slighter higher pitch than needed, "_R_-_riddikulus_!"

There is a noise like the crack of a whip and Snape stumbles, and now he's wearing a long green, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, though Neville is right- it does look menacing, and wielding a huge crimson handbag.

As expected, the class roars in laughter; which pauses and confuses the boggart. Lupin takes this as his cue to shout, "Parvati! Forward!"

From there, every student steps forward to face it, from Parvati and her blood-stained mummy to Ron and his Acromantula. Except, that once Ron uses the charm to remove the spider's legs it rolls towards me. Lupin moves to interfere, but he's not fast enough, for where the spider was now stands my greatest fear: Minister Riddle.

Minister Tom Riddle still has the same handsome features as his sixteen-year old counterpart- with the tidy jet-black hair and dark eyes- only with a bit more age added on and wearing the outfit I met Fudge in this summer. "Good afternoon, Minister Riddle," I greet softly as he withdraws his wand. "_Riddikulus_!" Tom Riddle now wearing beggar's clothes with a collecting tin at his side is too much for me and I double over laughing, while others look at me strangely. My laughter is too much for the boggart as it explodes, busting into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke. "Sorry professor," I apologize, wiping my eyes.

"No problem, Harry," he says with a smile, though he is incredibly confused, "Excellent showing." He turns to Neville. "Good job, Neville. Well done, everyone… Let me see.. five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the boggart- ten for Harry because he defeated it… and ten more to Harry for answering my questions."

"Homework, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me… to be handed in at the beginning of our next class. That will be all," he finishes as the class begins to leave. Neville quickly returns to my side.

"Nice job with cross-dressing Snape, Neville," I congratulate him. If I ever get my hands on a pensieve, I'll be sure to snag a picture of that.

He gives me a wide smile; all of the confidence boosting I've done this morning is working wonders, hopefully helping him perform better in class, which will in turn further raise his confidence. Maybe I'm letting my optimism do the talking again. "Thanks Harry." He looks slightly nervous. "Er, Harry, who was that?" Of course, he wants to know the story of my boggart's form.

I decide to eventually humor him. "Who do you think it was?" I ask sagely as we exit the staffroom and begin walking back to Gryffindor tower.

"Er, I thought your boggart would be You-Know-Who," Neville replies shakily.

"What makes you think that wasn't Voldemort?" I ask curiously, intending to make him panic when I utter the name.

"H-Harry, you really shouldn't-" Neville stutters as we turn a corner. Damn, he missed my insinuation,

"Call him Voldemort, Neville. Or, if you find it easier, you can refer to him as Tom Riddle," I remark, echoing Dumbledore. I feel like I need to wash my mouth out with soap now.

"But who was that?" he asks, rather exasperated.

"Well Neville, would you say you got a good look at him?" I ask. He nods wordlessly. "Then what can you deduce from what you saw?"

He looks completely flustered and now I can see why Dumbledore likes playing mind games. But he looks willing to play along. "Er, well, he was a decent looking bloke. Uh, very regal, and he dressed well. Er, he was this Tom Riddle chap?"

"Yes Neville. My boggart is Minister Tom Riddle," I answer as we walk towards the Gryffindor Tower. Another trust-inducing tactic of Riddle's making: confide information in a mark that seems important but really isn't. Dumbledore also uses it on occasion. What do I care if the knowledge of Riddle's origins spread? It can only make my opponent look worse over time, and if I ever fall under scrutiny for knowing this tidbit I can redirect attention to Dumbledore. He did actually tell me, after all; I just found a new use for the knowledge.

"I'm not sure I understand, Harry," Neville replies, confused.

"Well Neville, he has thrice tried to kill me," I point out.

Neville stills. "What do you mean?" he whispers.

"Tom Riddle has tried to kill me three times. Once when I was a year old, the second time was two years ago, and his most recent attempt came at the end of last year. I have no doubt he will try again in the future," I finish.

"That… that was Voldemort!" he whispers, completely flabbergasted.

"You sound surprised," I chuckle without humor. "Does it shock you to know that he was once a man?"

"But- I mean my gran told me- he looked so human!" Neville spluttered.

"So unlike what'd be expected of a Dark Lord?" I ask smugly. Neville nods. "Of course. As I said, it was my boggart. Minister Tom Riddle is not plagued by the insanity of his counterpart, and thus, has foresight, cunning, and intelligence to match his mastery of magic. Therefore, he does not look disfigured, but rather he looks suave, charming, and above all, trustworthy; truly a wolf in sheep's clothing. Luckily for me, Tom Riddle only fully possesses a mastery of magic and occasional flashes of the other attributes, or else I would have died a long time ago," I remark idly.

We walk in silence the rest of the way. Sometimes letting a person stew in their thoughts is really the best way to win them over, rather than pushing the envelope and I'm gambling that backing off will pay dividends later. I'm gambling a lot today, aren't I?

I walk into the Gryffindor common room and leave Neville's side, looking for another potential mark. Ah, there he is! Plastering a smile on my face, I walk towards Colin Creevey and his group of friends.

You may reasonably ask- why Colin? The answer is rather simple. First, he's a person who genuinely likes me because of my reputation, second, he's tried to get my attention multiple times, and third, it's always useful to have people who genuinely want to do your bidding, a lesson which Voldemort never learned. Even if Colin isn't that powerful, I may have a use for him in the future. For every Antonin Dolohov Mr. Riddle had at his beck and call, he also had five Gregory Goyles to act as brute force.

"Hey Colin," I say with a smile, and everyone in his group stops talking and stares at me. "How's it going?"

"Fine, Harry!" He replies enthusiastically while beaming. "Say, Harry, do you think you could autograph my picture now?" He asks, holding up the old photo of me and Lockhart.

"Sorry Colin," I wince at the defeated expression on his face, "But I want no record existing that I ever associated with that phony. Tell you what: get your camera out and maybe one of your friends can take a picture of us, and then I'll sign it," I offer. Can I really firm up his loyalty with a few kind words, a picture, and an autograph? Let's find out!

Sure enough, Colin has scrambled to my side, and one of his friends, Ben something-or-other, holds the camera in his hand. I hold up my hand and wave with a smile on my face as Colin stands next to me beaming, and he takes the picture. "Thanks Harry, I'll develop it soon," Colin promises.

"No problem, Colin. Say, if you ever need any help with any class work, you know you can always ask me, right?" I ask. Call it sealing the deal. Colin nods enthusiastically and I walk away after reciting the appropriate goodbyes.

As I walk to the boy's staircase, I scan the room for any sign of Katie, as she's another potential investment. I don't find her, but I do run headlong into Oliver Wood.

"Hey, Harry, Quidditch practice Saturday!" He announces excitedly.

"Did you tell the rest of the team yet, Ollie?" I reply in a whisper.

"No, Harry, you're the first back," He explains.

"Good. Listen Ollie, I might have a potential conflict with Saturday, so please hold off on telling everyone and I'll tell you tonight if it's good or not, alright?" I ask. Who knows but Dumbledore when we'll be meeting- he did say three times a week, didn't he? "I just need to make sure."

Ollie smiles at me. "Sure Harry. Anything for my star seeker!" I was half expecting him to berate me on my commitment to the team, or some such drivel; Wood's kind of a fanatic that way. Ah, well, I'll see Katie then, so no need to find her now. Nodding to Wood, I make my way upstairs.

I had debated whether or not to resign from the Quidditch team to free up more time. To make a long story short, I decided to stay on because one of the few things Tom Riddle couldn't do right is flying on a broomstick. Excelling at something he could never grasp… well, it makes me feel more Harry than Tom. I'd like there to be some constants in my life, and for now, Quidditch will have to do.

It is a few hours later, after finishing up my Potions and DADA assignment, and wolfing down a quick dinner, that I return to Dumbledore's office. What does the wily old man have up his sleeve this time? Perhaps he will have a way to solve my academic credibility problem. All I bring with me is my wand and invisibility cloak, just in case the lesson runs late and I need to make a three a.m. return to the tower.

"Good evening, Headmaster," I greet as I walk into his office. I take the seat opposite him, ready to get to work.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore replies. "Before we begin, there are a few areas of concern that must be addressed." Honestly, I was kind of expecting this. There was a lot that didn't come up during last night's meeting.

He clears his throat before continuing. "I would like to begin by commending your efforts to build bridges. Already word has reached me of your interactions with Professor Lupin, Colin Creevey, and Neville." Right, he knows everything of interest going on in the castle. "I am glad to see that you know the value of diplomacy and influence over your peers and comrades. That is why I would to ask about your interaction with Professor McGonagall."

I fidget slightly, having known this was coming. "Well to put it simply sir, our relationship wasn't good to begin with. She already possesses a record of inaction, in regards to the Philosopher's Stone and Neville's problems in class, one that is troubling to say the least. Additionally, I felt our working relationship was in fact not working, as I don't genuinely believe she is a pro-active enough head of Gryffindor; again Neville's problems are my evidence for that statement. Thus, when she began interrogating me about my decision to go the Alley, even though I already had your permission, to rectify a problem she allowed to fester, I felt it was time to take drastic steps to right the ship. I needed her to see that I didn't have much respect for her outside of class so that perhaps at a future date things can be redressed. How do you suggest I handle the situation, sir?"

I think asking for his guidance at the end is a nice touch. "Harry, I do not approve of your methods or conclusions, but I do understand your reasoning. I would like to inform you that there is much more to the story with regards to your Head of House, but I will say no more. As for rectifying the situation, I think remaining polite but closed off towards her would go a long way towards eventually building that bridge properly."

"Thank you, sir. As you mentioned, I am in fact trying to pull a Slughorn and build bridges. I am first focusing on Gryffindors, and I have made some progress," I comment. "Now then, sir, I did have a concern I wanted to voice," Dumbledore nods for me to continue. "My academic record these past two years is not stellar, and thus, when news broke of the apprenticeship, many were… skeptical of my ability to handle it. Is there any way I can silence doubts before they undermine our collective credibility?"

Dumbledore leans back in his chair. "Ah yes, that is something I had planned on addressing. I do have a solution, Harry. I think I would be right in stating that there are certain classes, such as Herbology and History of Magic, where there is little you can learn?"

"Yes, and perhaps Astronomy as well. All the other classes are good for practice at the very least," I say. If I know him as well as I think, then getting rid of these three classes should go a long way to freeing up my schedule and allowing me more time to prepare for Voldemort's eventual return.

"Excellent. I shall make arrangements for you to take my OWL's at the Ministry this Sunday, in those subjects," Dumbledore declares. Yup, called it, I do know the bastard well. Of course, this is an excellent opportunity to push the envelope, is it not?

My reaction is a frown. "Pardon me, sir, but that just doesn't seem… strong enough. If I may," he nods for me to continue, "While my taking and passing those exams would be impressive, it just doesn't say enough about my competence to completely quell any mutterings of favoritism or whatnot. In this situation, I just don't think three early OWL's says nearly enough. How about I take the OWL's and NEWT's in those subjects? Actually, why not add Muggle Studies and Divination into the mix as well seeing as I'm not taking them; ten excellent marks say a lot more than three do," I point out. And taking the NEWT's shows that I'm well ahead of my peers, in subject areas I was generally considered weak in. I can then credibly claim I was "hiding my knowledge" or some such drivel and the evidence will back me up.

Dumbledore strokes his beard. "I find that an acceptable proposition, Harry. You are confident you can achieve good marks in those subjects?"

"Yes sir," I reply. Really, with Occlumency these tests are going to be a walk in the park. This is better than I could have hoped for. I get to finish with three of my classes and I can show that the world that I am worthy of this apprenticeship. "I am confident I can bring home O's in those subjects."

"Excellent Harry; I am glad to hear it. I shall make the necessary arrangements," Dumbledore say as he takes a sip from a teacup I hadn't noticed before. "Now then there are a few other matters to discuss."

Dumbledore leans to his right and opens his desk drawer, and withdraws two objects. He places in front of me a time-turner and a pensieve. My eyes widen as I consider the implications: is he going to force me to give him memories in exchange for the time-turner?

"We must also discuss certain things you will find useful under my tutelage. I have taken the liberty of granting you leave to come and go from the grounds at your leisure. You are now fully keyed in to the castle floo network and the Hogwarts wards." That would have been nice to know this afternoon. "I have also commanded the Hogwarts house-elves to prepare you an office on the seventh floor near your training facilities so as to disguise your movements. Additionally," he gestures to the two items, "I think you might find good use for these trinkets. This is my personal time-turner, which pushes the limits of time magic, in that it can go back twelve hours. I created it to serve as an experiment in chronomancy which I used to disprove Cerveli's theory on the limitations of time-travel."

I look at the old bastard with a great deal of respect. He's basically disproved the accepted theory that a person can't eat or sleep while time-traveling. I don't know how he did it, and really, that's not the sort of thing I want to know, but I do respect him for managing it.

"I also wish to lend you my pensieve for all your memory examination needs," Dumbledore continues. "I have also included a few memories you might find useful. I assume you should find good use for it. Finally, there is one last study aid I think you will need. Dobby!"

My eyes widen horrified as a familiar psychotic house-elf appears as Dumbledore's side. Oh, that fucker set me up! Hell, Dobby spent more time trying to kill me last year with his "help" than Riddle and the basilisk combined.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, what can Dobby- Harry Potter, sir!" Suddenly the little psycho is hugging my leg right after he notices I'm here. I raise my eyebrows at Dumbledore, wondering exactly what he's trying to pull. Well, at least Dobby's lost the pillow case; he's wearing a dull gray sweater and mismatched socks now.

"Ah Dobby", the house-elf stops humping my leg and turns his attention on Dumbledore. "I am afraid that a complication has arisen and Hogwarts shall have to terminate your employment," he turns slightly and winks at me as Dobby bursts into tears. "But there is good news. Harry is currently in need of a house-elf, and I have passed along my personal recommendation."

Okay he's hugging my leg again. Thank you Headmaster, thank you. Of course, even a house-elf as insane as Dobby is potentially a very useful asset- what with his access to powerful magic and his ability to move undetected around the castle because he's keyed into the wards.

"Yes, Dobby, I was hoping the Headmaster would be able to track you down. Would you like to become my elf?" I ask graciously, or as graciously as I can act at this time. Gotta love improvisation.

"Um, Harry Potter, sir," Okay he's fidgeting now; this is not a good sign. "Dobby would love to but… I want's paying!" he blurts out. Wow, even the elves are shaking me down these days, heh.

Okay, I'm going to guess he doesn't have a clue how much his labor is worth. "How much would you like Dobby?" I ask.

"Dobby wants one galleon a month, Harry Potter, sir!" The elf squeaks excitedly. Well, that shouldn't be a problem, but I think my family coffers might be running a bit low; I really should check up on my finances at some point.

"Done, Dobby," I reach into my robe pocket and pull out a handful of coins. "Here, Dobby, I'm pre-paying for the next six months," I announce as I force the gold into his tiny hands.

Dobby bursts it tears at "Harry Potter, sir's" generosity and it takes at least five minutes to calm him down and assign him a task; take the pensieve to my new office. As Dobby pops away with the pensieve in tow, I take the time-turner, pull it over my head, and tuck it down my robe.

"And now, it is time for our lessons to get underway. Oh, and before I forget, we shall be meeting Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays for the foreseeable future. I will let you know when that is subject to change." Dumbledore withdraws his wand, and it looks like he's going to actually start teaching me.

Dumbledore clears his throat once more. "Now then, our first lesson shall deal with Occlumency. As I'm sure you already know, Occlumency is the foundation for performing advanced magic and a considerable aid towards casting non-verbally. What I imagine might be unknown to you, as unlikely as the case may be, is that being an advanced Occlumens is also a prerequisite for truly advanced transfigurations. This is because the ability to picture an item with such clarity in the mind's eye- such depth that you can actually see the needle your match is supposed to turn in to- greatly enhances the amount of detail able to be woven into a specific transfiguration, and readily speeds up even the most time consuming aspects of this branch of magic." Actually, Riddle did know that, so I do as well.

"Now then, your mind being in turmoil for more than a decade- in constant conflict with the portion Riddle's soul embedded in your scar- has provided you with very strong basic shields, much stronger than the level most Occlumency prodigies start out at, but you will need more than basic shielding if you want to repulse a legilimens, or reap the true benefits of the art."

"Severus tells me you can repel basic attacks," I nod, clearing my mind of all thought and emotion in preparation for what's coming. "Would you mind if I test you?"

I nod, and his eyes twinkle as he uses legilimency to enter my mind. The force of his attack batters against my Occlumency barriers and I strain to keep him out. I'm hardly aware of the sweat that begins pouring down my face as I shut my eyes to try and push back against the force of his attack. Again, and again, and again he tries to slip past my shields and I use every bit of proficiency I might possess to hold him back. It seems like hours before I feel him halt his mental attack and withdraw. I finally open my eyes and wipe the sweat I only just became aware of off my face.

"Excellent, Harry, quite excellent," Dumbledore apparently approves. "You weren't able to easily repel my attack, but you were able to keep me from gleaming any of your thoughts," he gestures at the clock on the wall, "For over ten minutes."

My eyes widen. It hurt like hell and it felt like it would never end, but I'm actually surprised I was able to deny him access for so long. Of course, he was probably pulling his punches, actually, I don't think he was really trying at all, but still, I feel like I accomplished something.

"You will need some more work on repelling an attacking legilimens. Again," he comes set, and attacks once more.

An hour later, and ten more mental assaults from Dumbledore, and I can now repel him pretty quickly. By pretty quickly, I mean in less than five minutes if his last three attempts are anything to go by. Wow, who would've thought having a piece of Voldemort's soul in your head would make for good Occlumency practice?

"Good work Harry. Now then, the next lesson concerns building a mindscape. Are you already aware of what that entails?" He asks.

My head is still pounding slightly as I answer, "Yes sir. I need to retreat behind my Occlumency walls, replicate a structure or construct I know well, and then use that structure to organize my thoughts and personality aspects all the while adding defenses that will slow down or defeat an attacking legilimens."

"I see you understand. Do you know what structure you'll use? Mine is the house I grew up in at Godric's Hollow," Dumbledore offers. He grew up in Godric's Hollow? Hmm, never knew that.

I smile because I already know what fortress will house my thoughts. "Hogwarts," I declare as I withdraw into my mindscape and begin building a duplicate from scratch.

It is actually very easy to do this when you know exactly how another person managed it. Of course, Riddle didn't use Hogwarts, but rather, the Chamber of Secrets, but knowing what he did over the years to better strengthen his defenses and improve his Occlumency capabilities makes my job incredibly easy. After a few moments of intense concentration, I open my eyes and gaze at the replica of Hogwarts in my head, a place I know like the back of my hand.

I thought Hogwarts was the perfect place to use because of the many areas of the castle that I could perfectly match up to my personality. Want to find my memories? Well you best make your way to the pensieve bowl in my office- if you can even get there, that is. Secrets I plan on taking to my grave, like the secret of Riddle's horcruxes, are locked away in the Chamber of Secrets, behind the basilisk which is alive only here. Need to have a chat with the wise but manipulative part of me? Look no further where than my version of the Headmaster's office, complete with no less than seven deathtraps and a Dumbledore imitation that'll kick your ass all over the room before he'll talk. Let's face it, Hogwarts is the only place I've ever really felt at home, it's the only place I know like the back of my hand, and it's the only place I feel like I can deposit my secrets safely. And it's the only place that's enough of a deathtrap without me adding anything to it, if my last two years experiences are anything to go by. I can't think of a better option. Or maybe I don't want to.

Finally, I finish setting up the replica of Hogwarts in my mind, complete with assorted traps and dead-ends that will fool any legilimens who also knows Hogwart's layout- that means you, Riddle- and I return to consciousness after activating a replica of the Hogwarts wards.

"Have you finished, Harry?" Dumbledore asks politely as I return to consciousness. I glance at the clock- three whole hours!- before I nod. "Excellent, then let us resume testing your mental defenses."

It is another hour and change before Dumbledore is satisfied. I've reduced my time from five minutes to three, and only once did he get a glance at Hogwarts. Finally, when the clock signals midnight, Dumbledore ends the lesson. My head is killing me after so many legilimency attacks.

"Well done, Harry. We shall spend some more time on this tomorrow before moving on. Before I dismiss you, here are the potions professor Snape has brewed," he withdraws a tray with ten potion vials and I wince. If they taste anything like Pomphrey's brews then I am never going to get the taste out of my mouth. I can only identify a few of the potions before me; a variation of the growth potion I brewed the other day, the magical affinity draught, and something that looks oddly like a strengthening solution. Why would I need that last one? Strengthening solutions are only temporary, after all.

"Any directions for their intake, sir?" I ask quietly. Rule of thumb for potions; the more exotic the potion, the worse it's going to taste.

"Professor Snape has directed me to make sure you should drink them all in the next fifteen minutes," Dumbledore remarks.

Well, bottoms up, right? I pull the first one towards me and take a deep chug. I instantly regret it as a taste like blood enters my mouth. Well, no help for it, I swallow all of that down, and replace the vial while reaching for another. Ten minutes later and I've finally managed to consume them all. Oh god, I feel horrible now. Actually, no wait, I feel great, except for that damn taste in my mouth.

"Sir, would there be a problem if I used the new time-turner you so generously lent me to practice some more, now that we've finished for the night?" I ask.

"I see no reason why there should be. As my apprentice, you now have the same privileges as the Head Boy when it comes to wanderings, late night or otherwise." Maybe it's me, but I think Percy is going to be ticked off with that one. "Good night, Harry," Dumbledore says as I get to my feet and walk to the door. Once outside, I withdraw my time turner and give it twelve turns.

I stumble back to the common room near midnight after nearly twelve hours of practice. Believe it or not, my advanced Occlumency really seems to help out with my spellwork, and my transfiguration has seen much improvement. Not like I could get any worse in that area, though. I spent most of my day practicing simple household charms, figuring that they'd make for a good stepping stone. Learning them is good for feeling the flow of my magic, reviewing the basic wand movements, trying out a little non-verbal casting; all of which should help me in the future. Or at least that's what I think because one rule of learning magic has been effectively pounded into my head: basics kill, basically. The rest of my day involved transfiguration practice, and as I said, it seems much easier now. Around eight, I had Dobby get me a meal- he never suspected that Harry Potter was in two places at once- but I am now utterly knackered.

I glance around the room, half expecting Neville or Colin to be waiting up for me. Thankfully, they're both not here. I climb the staircase and head to bed, only to find Neville waiting for me there.

"Hey, Harry, where were you?" he whispers trying not to wake a sleeping Dean, Seamus, or Ron. Not now, Neville, please not now. I hope my brush off now won't prove a setback later.

"Lessons with Dumbledore," I mutter. "Look, Neville, I'll tell you about it in the morning. For now, I'm exhausted."

I don't think I've ever changed my clothes so fast, and I'm pretty certain that I have never fallen asleep quite so quickly. My last thought as I drift off to sleep is that I pushed myself a bit too much today. Nah, that's crazy talk.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: And here's the next installment. I have read some reviews expressing concerns about my update schedule. Let me attempt to quell those concerns: I was forced to stop for a period of five months because my computer received a virus and after finally recovering what I could- which wasn't much- I then had to restore outlines, plot-points, and other relevant information. Now that that is all done, I estimate updates every two weeks- perhaps three weeks if my life gets stressful, like this last week- from here on out. Thank you for reading and reviewing. I don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter Six: The Art of Wheeling and Dealing

This week has been a pretty good week, but if there's one thing that could unravel it all, it's today's trip to the Ministry. Why? Because a day at the Ministry means dealing with bureaucracy, chance encounters with unwanted parties like Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge, bureaucracy, tense meetings with potentially helpful higher-ups, and bureaucracy. And really, any combination of these things could be enough to undo all the progress I've made this week.

In Dumbledore's defense, I was the one who first pushed the envelope when I suggested going from three tests to ten. On the other hand, since I'm actually going to be there, getting my apparation license and trying to forge contacts with key Ministry members are among the task that have been added to the list as well. Getting my licenses should be elementary, but the latter task could prove challenging. The only idea on how to do that I have is to head to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and try to meet with the new head, Amelia Bones, about last year's underage magic charge and getting it thrown out. If I get to that point, I can only hope the conversation grows to encompass why exactly a house-elf came to warn me, and from there, the danger lurking on the horizon. Wishful thinking is wishful, I guess.

But aside from that, this week has been filled with so many positives that I'm almost certain I'm due for it to all come crashing down. Beside me walks Neville, who is paying off huge dividends for my small acts of kindness. For instance, yesterday I spent a little time teaching him the shield charm. When he finally had it down, it took maybe an hour or so, I could actually see the shadow of his parents in him. His performance in class is going to receive an across the board increase, of that I have no doubt, and if he performs at the level I expect him to from now on, then I could have a worthy lieutenant in a few years time when I'm crossing wands with Big V.

On the other hand, Colin is definitely a long term project. I have helped him twice with his homework since I offered, and I do make an effort to be polite to him and his friends. But he is currently an average wizard- not that everyone can be a powerhouse, and that wasn't what I wanted him for anyway. Colin already is incredibly loyal to me, or at least the idea of me, and I needed to make inroads with people who could be useful in the coming years, either as friends, wands at my side, or influential supporters. His loyalty puts him down as a possibility for the last two categories. Dumbledore uses this trick with some of his hangers-on, like Dedalus Diggle, where he keeps around average wizards and witches just to fill his manpower needs, or tout his good name when the situation requires it.

Unfortunately, I made no progress with Katie. I did try to strike up conversation several times with her at practice yesterday, but to no avail. She's just as shy, just as closed off as she ever was, though I did notice she seems very at ease with the other Gryffindor chasers. Nonetheless, I made absolutely no progress with her, and I'm starting to wonder why I bother. Well, no I don't, I already know the answer to that one; because she approached me. I thought that she could be a useful ally, but now I'm pretty sure this is a sleeping dog I'd better let lie. Considering the lack of progress I made yesterday, I can see no good coming from forcing the issue, and I do have better things to do with my time presently. Maybe in the future, but for the present, there's nothing else left to do, I guess.

Practice itself went pretty well; even after all I've been through, I still have my skill at flying. Actually, if what the rest of the team said is true, then apparently my flying has gotten even better, but then again, I personally didn't think it did, so I don't know what to believe. Either way, it was a good practice, the team looks sharp, and it gave me a chance to hang out with the Weasley Twins.

I must admit that I was surprised how quickly the situation between me and the Weasleys cooled down. I would have thought with not speaking with Ron and Ginny being the "cause" of our fight, I was in for a cold war with the entire family. I was wrong; incredibly wrong. Ginny still looks gets embarrassed when I walk into a room, usually followed by a hastily made excuse and a quick departure. I don't talk to Ron, or Hermione, as I've mentioned several times. But Percy never gave me a hard time, which I am grateful for, because I definitely don't need to make an enemy out of the Head Boy. I already know the power a malicious Head Boy has to make life miserable for any they dislike, thank you. In fact, Percy, unless I'm drastically misreading the situation, seems to be making overtures of friendship towards me. Not what I'd expected at all. The twins, of course, I'd talked out of any kind of retaliation. But the most disconcerting thing of all was that when the inevitable Molly Weasley howler arrived, Errol didn't land in front of me. Rather, the Howler declared that Ron and Ginny "shamed the family" and also made sure to apologize profusely to me for their actions. In front of the entire Great Hall.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, that was also the day news of my apprenticeship really seemed to hit the Hogwarts rumor mill, so the public reaction wasn't "let's crucify those Weasleys" but rather, "Hey, did you hear, he's Dumbledore's apprentices- we should probably do X." I say X because the reactions varied quite drastically, from several upper years paying even more attention to me, to my peers not knowing how to handle it, to many, many, many girls suddenly deciding that I was the "hot item."

Is it really that odd that a basilisk, Voldemort, and the certainty of his eventual return don't do much to give me pause, but the prospect of dating actually does? Well, yes, I suppose most people would have that list reversed. But still, dating is a going to be a nightmare, one that I'll be forced to confront because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. I am presently committed to building bridges, and if I continue, which I will, then there is going to come a point where dating comes into play. Of course, at that point, they won't be expecting a boy with the memories of a master manipulator, which can only lead to complications down the road. And I really don't think, even with the strides I've made with Occlumency over the past few days, that I can pull off the Tom Riddle 'rob you blind and poison you while I smile at you' charm that worked so well on people like Hezibah Smith- especially the 'poison you' part.

Speaking of Occlumency, you know how Dumbledore told me we were only going to meet three times a week? He lied, at least in the present time. Every night since our Thursday meeting I have been summoned to his office to undergo more Occlumency training. I can't complain, because mastering this is every bit as important as he says. But still, my private training time has seen a large cut back. Even so, I'm satisfied with what I have accomplished thus far.

I've mastered all of the household spells, from summoning charms to hovering charms to item-sorting charms, which I set out to learn. The reason I chose those spells to focus on is because they require finesse rather than sheer magic power, and it isn't enough to point and fire, but rather, the flicks, the swishes, and the slashes have to be perfectly aligned with the amount of magical power behind the spell. What better way to make sure I have the twenty-four elementary wand movements and the sixteen supplementary tweaks down? And what better way to practice channeling the right amount of magic than charms that will visibly tell you if you're doing them wrong- a hovering charm slamming the object it's used on into the ceiling, for instance.

Finesse and magical power in spades and particulars is a prerequisite for the kinds of battlefield Transfigurations you'd expect to see out of Dumbledore, but I'm just focusing on finesse. Which lead me to studying one of the arts that's really fallen out of favor these days: illusions. Illusions, like most household charms, rely on finesse with a wand rather than power channeled through it, are extremely complex to cast, and generally not worth the effort. "Why are they so complex?" you might ask. Because, in weaving an illusion, or in some cases, a series of illusions at once, there is also a mind arts element that goes into fooling the onlookers that what you've just done, a conjuration or a transfiguration or whatnot, is actually real, and not an illusion; an element of this branch most people don't have access to, I might add. Granted, there is no additional legilimency element required- and thanks be to Merlin for that, because I have my own legilimency problems as is- but it is still incredibly tricky to pretend to do something, fool your opponent into believing it, and still be able to capitalize on the opportunity all at once. But in my case, I have the mind arts requisite part down, I'm getting the finesse up to speed, and if I master Occlumency, then I'm that much closer to mastering the needed non-verbal aspect, which then means I can actually use illusions in a duel. And even if I can't get it to that point, good finesse means better Transfiguration, which, if you're Voldemort or Dumbledore, means you can fell entire armies with a wave of your wand.

But as I said, I'm now having problems with legilimency. Advance enough with Occlumency, and suddenly it becomes possible to perform legilimency with but a simple glance. The problem, again, comes back to the soul fragment, because not only was I defending against a takeover for all those years, I was also, occasionally, on the offense, like with the events at the end of my first year. And if my Occlumency had to advance enough to keep Voldemort's soul out, then it was only logical that any legilimency ability I had was put to the test on the mental battlefield.

Most of my schoolmates, the pureblooded or halfblooded ones that grew up around magical society, have had a few lessons in Occlumency. Not enough to ever keep good mental shields up or build a mindscape or anything, that much might be crossing into a dreaded gray area for wizarding law, but enough to snap shields into place when a known Legilimens, like Snape, walks into the room. The shields aren't strong enough to keep anything concealed except perhaps emotions, but they are good enough at making sure a foreign mental presence can be sensed, which can then be used to raise legal hell. It is a barely legal art, but then again, underage students practicing magic over the summer isn't legal either, and that hasn't stopped them yet, has it? None of them will likely ever become that proficient at the art, because they are generally not required to, and it's a great against nosy legilimens. The trouble is that, as I said, the mental shields have to be raised when a known legilimens approaches, and I am not a known legilimens. Which means that I'm just an uncontrolled burst of legilimency away from detonating a legal minefield.

I first noticed it in the Gryffindor common room the other day. I had just entered, and there was Ginny Weasley chatting with some friends. She turned her head, we locked eyes, and she made up another quick excuse to go up to her dorm room. The trouble was that our eyes remained locked for the second when she started weaving her tales, and the word "lies" flashed across my subconscious. The mind isn't a book though, so it can't really just pick up a lie, but rather, in that legilimency burst, it saw she wasn't telling the truth from her surface thoughts, and it found a way to convey the message to me, by showing me one of my own flimsy excuses from last year for why my homework wasn't handed in. Legilimency can't pick out every tidbit, every little associated idea without digging deeper into the mind, so it finds a way to relate emotions and thoughts in simplest terms; in this case, my own memories that have similar themes as to what my legilimency has picked up. From all that, I understood she was lying- and that is a big problem.

I'm a teenager, in a school with other teenagers; our lives are built on lies, to ourselves and to our peers. See the problem yet? Additionally, being a legilimens is something restricted by the Ministry- to put it lightly- so imagine the problem if I accidently invade someone's mind when they have their half-assed mental shields up? This problem was just a tad above my pay-grade, so I put it at the Headmaster's feet. Once I'd told Dumbledore about my problem, getting a discrete waiver to practice legilimency was added to today's agenda, and that of course opened the door for more additions.

The thing is, that first success, accessing Ginny Weasley's mind, if just for a second or two, seemed to have set things out of control. Later that day, I was in the library, looking up more on wizarding law, when my paranoia kicked in and I felt like someone was watching me. I turned to see Hermione staring at me. Once more, our eyes locked, my legilimency kicked in, and rather than "lies" or something similar, my mind correlated the new data with "desire." Which rather scares me, because I wasn't able to discern before the connection broke whether it was desire for renewed friendship, or something more… and I dearly hope it isn't the second one.

Like I said, minds aren't books, and legilimency can only do so much. If I'd perhaps widened the connection so that I saw mental images rather than skimmed surface thoughts and emotions, I could see the context of that emotion. The memory my subconscious fed me to help understand the emotional context was my memory of the morning after Hagrid came and told me I was a wizard, and those few fleeting moments where I thought it was all a lie or a dream, but I was desperately wishing it to be true. So with that understanding of her meaning behind "desire", I really can't tell what she desired, and maybe I should have dug deeper, but by that point, I was kind of freaking out that I had a mind reading problem, so I hope I can be forgiven for not examining the extent of that problem.

My legilimency has been like that ever since. If I lock eyes with anyone, it results in at least a skimming of surface thoughts. But this occurring with Neville, because I understand him and our relationship is more akin to friendship than acquaintances, means I get more of a window into his mind during my one second invasions, all of which convey several thoughts and emotions like trust, admiration, contentedness, and a thirst to prove himself on my behalf. That last one is actually quite flattering and shows the Riddle handbook isn't yet obsolete. Anyway, in the time since this became a problem, I've done this no less than two dozen times, twice to poor Neville, and it needs to be dealt with.

I did learn two interesting things from it, though. One of the Hufflepuffs, a Zacharias… Smith?- I think- seems to resent me a great deal. I sensed jealousy, envy, and perhaps even the seeds of hatred in him, which I pointed out to Dumbledore so we can try and abate the problem before it manifests. I have enough enemies outside these walls; I don't need more enemies from within. Especially not one in Helga's house- they tend to get their friends in on any grudges or scuffles. The other discovery that I made via legilimency came when I scanned my "dear" cousin's mind. It was over the weekend, and I had just walked by his table to see him looking over at me, legilimency happened, and I think I learned that his attempts to befriend me are the result of orders- from his father. Of course, I still owe Lucius for all that he put me through last year, and I think I can exact a suitable revenge via his son. Or at least it's the best plan I can come up with.

Granted, I've had a crash course in the art of revenge from Tom Riddle, but I think palming my wand and shouting "_Avada Kedavra!_" at his unprepared back is just a tad uninspired at this point. What I want involves him living, but living in a fractured sort of existence full of unhappiness and misery that only Voldemort could understand. I would prefer something that involves robbing him blind, but I can't think of any leverage that would get the goblins to stand behind me on that. He beats for the other team, so annulling his marriage or trying to somehow make Narcissa leave him seems like a rather ineffective way to exact vengeance. But thankfully Draco is a pathway towards suitable revenge.

I'd thought about killing him, but really, it just seems so… unoriginal. Voldemort can do that, and he's bloody insane. Surely I have more mental capacity than the shell of the man Riddle is? Besides, how does that help me in the long term, when I'm crossing wands with Big V, other than being a temporary stress reliever? But, if Draco is trying to befriend me, then…

Well, he has to listen to me, doesn't he? And if I extol the virtues of muggleborn integration in magical society, the problems with pureblood supremacy, if I continually pound the message into his head… I have a part of Tom Riddle's suave charisma before he ruined it all and became Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy has only one child, Draco, who is by default, the heir to his fortune. Draco is the focal point. So, my revenge on Lucius will be converting his son to my side, reeking strife in his household, pushing him to the point where he has to cross wands with his own son. And perhaps, I will also be gaining a wand and useful ally in my future endeavors.

Well, I guess it's time to put that plan into action. We walk into the Great Hall, and I whisper to Neville, "Listen, I'm going to have a chat with the Slytherins. You're welcome, of course, but I don't think you want in on this one." Neville nods nervously and we part. I stride towards the Slytherin table and drop into a seat next to my drowsy half-asleep cousin. "Morning, Cousin. Perhaps you could wake up and pass me the toast."

Draco, previously half-asleep and looking ready to head back to bed, now looks wide awake and wide-eyed at my presence. As do the Slytherins around him. And others throughout the Great Hall. Good, I've managed to keep this low profile. "The toast, cousin," I remind him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, forgetting to keep his voice low.

"Asking you to pass the toast," I repeat again. "And perhaps Pansy could kindly pass me a roll," I add. Only Blaise Zabini seems to be taking this in stride- he's the one who nudges Draco to pass the toast while Pansy seems to get the hint and fork over a roll.

"So why have we been graced with your presence this morning, Potter?" Draco asks snidely, but with an undertone of curiosity, as he finally passes the toast.

"Well, I was wondering what your game was," I remark my first piece of toast and washing it down with juice.

"Game?" Draco repeats, taken aback. I'm guessing he's starting to wonder if I know about his father's orders.

"Well, you haven't been a nuisance the last couple of days," I point out. I see the hint of a smile on his face. "Granted, it is satisfying not having to swat you like a bug and crush all your hopes and dreams, and I feel I'm able to accomplish more because of that, but I am curious."

"As if you think I'm just a nuisance, Potter," he scoffs. Time for the bug-crushing I mentioned.

"Draco," I smile bemusedly, "The past couple of years you were a nuisance. Not my rival, as you might entertain yourself… a nuisance." The smile leaves his face. "Now, I was busy trying to keep a low profile, and a 'rivalry' with you helped me with that. But now that the cat is out of the bag, and people know I'm not the talentless, mediocre student I pretended to be. Which means I no longer have a need for a talentless, mediocre rival to bicker with."

Draco looks like I just decked him. As do most of the Slytherins. "Dream on, Potter. Everyone knows-"

"Yes, but as you've mentioned on numerous occasions, you are a Slytherin, and what everyone knows shouldn't be good enough for you," I point out. "You are Draco Malfoy: you alone are supposed to know, and leave the peasants to wonder. Or at least, that's how you've billed yourself." I guess I've just switched from trying to win another ally to destroying and discrediting a nuisance. Oh well. Verbally bitch slapping Draco seems like a decent consolation prize. Sorry folks, I'm getting a little too much vindictive pleasure from this to let it go. In truth, the whole conversion plan doesn't work unless he is willing to listen to me, and right now, he has no incentive to listen to me. But perhaps if I win this little verbal joust… Well, even if that's true, the Tom Riddle in me wants to smite the little bastard, and this is the best I can do to appease it.

Draco has just turned a nice shade of red, though not yet close to matching the apocalyptic fury a Vernon Dursley pink guarantees. For the first time since I met him in Madam Malkin's, words actually seem to fail him.

I hold up my hands in the sort of placating gesture Dumbledore is famous for. "Let me give you an example. Your conduct during Care of Magical Creatures class on Monday. Now, you might style yourself clever for concocting a plan to get Hagrid fired. I, on the other hand, would first ask why you didn't have one of your peers do the dirty work. I suspect the answer is that you desired sympathy of some kind for something or other, which I don't need to point out, is a rather sad and pathetic level to stoop to. I also don't need to point out that the sympathy that comes if your plan were to succeed also brings with it the assumption that you weren't bright enough to navigate your way around a solitary hippogriff. That speaks loudly to my mentions of mediocre and talentless, doesn't it? But I'll leave that aside. My second question would be: What would you hope to gain by getting Hagrid fired?" I finally finish my diatribe and allow Malfoy the floor, a hint he doesn't seem to pick up on. "You may now speak."

That seems to catch his attention, and the words come sputtering out. "Maybe you don't get it, Potter, but a poor excuse of a wizard like Hagrid-"

"Draco, I doubt you could defeat that 'poor excuse for a wizard' in a duel," I swiftly interject. "But, by all means, carry on; dazzle me with your wit." I don't think my cousin realizes this, but he's just lost a huge amount of points with his fellow Slytherins over the course of this conversation. I could be imagining things, but Nott and Zabini look particularly impressed. Well, they were two people I decided to keep an eye on.

"As I was saying," Draco practically snarls, "That poor excuse of a wizard shouldn't be teaching. We deserve a proper teacher, one better than that oaf."

"If you are so concerned with the quality of Hogwarts educators, then why haven't you started a crusade against Binns," I ask idly. "Or Snape." I see that remark has me losing points with the Slytherins. "Your godfather would probably thank you because Dumbledore would be determined to keep him here, and his only alternative would be giving him the DADA post. Or maybe relegating him teaching NEWT potions. Either way, he would no longer be teaching us 'dunderheads', something that seems to cause him great pain every time a mistake is made in his class. I'm certain I could bring your concerns to the Headmaster if you so desired."

"That's not the point," Draco snarls. "Hagrid should-"

I sigh and adjust my glasses. Have you ever noticed that people- regular, everyday, people- have some kind of indicator that something is grinding their gears? Well, there's a saying that you can't trust someone unless you know the limits of their anger. Unless I want to be perceived as a phony by my peers, which does not help me in the long run, I need to act like a regular, mostly unoccluded teen, and not a master manipulator, which means I need a 'tell.' A tell meaning some kind of body language that others can pick up on and realize that my patience is running short; adjusting my glasses. I decided this would be an acceptable 'tell' for people to know, it's ambiguous enough to serve my purposes and I know other people who do this as well. Dumbledore's eyes sometimes twinkle- which sometimes means he's annoyed-, Snape's cloak billows, Voldemort _crucio_'s everything in sight, and I adjust my glasses.

"Draco, Hagrid has been put in a position where he has less free time, and he is teaching a subject he knows well. Now I don't know about you, but I still remember what Hagrid got up to the last time he had a little too much free time." Draco looks confused. "The Ridgeback," I mutter, and Draco pales as he remembers. Good luck turning that snippet of information into anything you little bastard, because the matter is over and no one will back up your story. "Secondly, he does know his subject. Hagrid routinely parlays with centaurs, is on good terms with the forest's Acromantula tribe, and the unicorns and hippogriffs seem to get along with him. Considering the man delights in dragons, Acromantulas, and hippogriffs, I think he knows what he's doing with magical creatures. As to your points about Hagrid's character- the Board of Governors has authority to tone down Hagrid's choice in creatures. So if he were to bring in anything truly dangerous, a letter to the Board would be enough to rectify the situation while Hagrid's size and ability keeps said creature it in line. So, I fail to see the problem with that arrangement."

"On the other hand, you seem to want to oust him from a job he can do well and which can prevent him from being a nuisance, and I just can't see why. Perhaps your father has cooked up another asinine plot that will somehow lead to Dumbledore's ousting. As if the Chamber of Secrets fiasco wasn't enough," I watch Draco turn white as there are gasps of shock around the table. What do I care if it gets out that Lucy had a hand in last year's reign of terror? On the contrary, spreading this kind of information around can help neutralize a potential future threat. "Oh, you didn't know? Yes, your father thought slipping a magical artifact into Hogwarts that would cause the attacks that would subsequently oust Dumbledore as Headmaster, and possibly result in Hogwarts being shut down, was a brilliant idea, and he was willing to play with your life to do it. The artifact in question was capable of releasing a basilisk on the school; one that was unable to differentiate friend from foe." Well, the other Slytherin's seem to have known the gist of the story, but not the details. I see Draco's confused look though, even as those other Slytherins seem to have cottoned on. "A basilisk, Draco: huge magical serpent that can kill you with its venom or with its mere stare."

"Can you prove it?' Draco asks in a trembling voice, clearly not wanting to believe is father would do such a thing. The audible tremble is him admitting defeat. This conversation officially goes to me. And yet I'm not quite satisfied.

"Draco, would it be your father if he left proof? The memories would be inadmissible, he has a Veritaserum resistance, and he's an Occlumens. Good luck proving it," I finish with a grin. "But, I do know what he did. And you are my leverage, Draco. If your father decides to once more interfere at Hogwarts, be it to get Hagrid fired, or to steal one of my shirts, then accidents might start happening around you. Please tell him that for me." I suppose the smile on my face is truly sinister. Did I just threaten Draco Malfoy in public? Yes. Is there a damn thing he can do about it? He can take this to any teacher he like, but I am Dumbledore's apprentice, and thus, if I can say it, perhaps what I'm saying is something my 'Master' would very much like to say. In which case, it's both of us promising another plot would result in Lucius's son 'slipping' off the Astronomy Tower at midnight. Meanwhile, none of Draco's peers are going to do shit for him once it's clear who exactly has an axe to grind with him and his father. Sorry Draco, but when you play with the Big Boys from day 1, there is also the possibility that you can lose big with absolutely no recourse. No- I've covered my bases on this one, and Draco is screwed; he even knows it. "But just because I'm gunning for your father doesn't mean we can't be friends."

"But as I said, perhaps this episode with the Hippogriff was another of your father's plots. Or perhaps you thought getting a competent but still unfamiliar teacher fired would be amusing. Either way, it's clear you're not thinking long term, as this entire episode illustrates poor thinking and questionable objectives, and it disappoints me," I finish. Though really, why should my disappointment matter? Oh right, I was just doing my best evil villain impression, and Draco should now fear for his life.

"Considering that you are Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, seemingly Snape's chosen successor with a cauldron, and so on, I am doubly disappointed. Did you perhaps waste time these last two years stooping to the level I pretended to be at?" I chide. I've won and won big, but I'm not just playing for Malfoy or his Slytherin compatriots anymore; I'm doing this for myself in a way. Well, I was always doing this for myself; but now it's more about tearing him down as much as possible and building myself up in the eyes of his peers. Doing both could vastly increase the amount of people with differing skills who flock to my banner.

"Whatever the case may be, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to express my profound disappointment in you. I hope that perhaps you'll quit being a nuisance, or at least become a better nuisance, and maybe if I'm lucky you'll perhaps focus on rectifying your many, many, many, shortcomings. I can hope, can't I," I finish. "But I'm out of time. Regards cousin, and I hope you manage to begin acting like a true Slytherin, or maybe just learn what one is, and not just continue on like the unwitting pawn that your Father has raised. We simply must do this again," I wave as I depart from the table leaving a thoroughly trampled Draco Malfoy in my wake.

Like I said, converting him is going to be a slow process, but the first step involves redefining our relationship from rivalry to that of superior and inferior. My play was that trashing Malfoy so thoroughly might win me some acclaim inside the house, and lead to Malfoy's jealousy and resentment slowly transforming to grudging respect and admiration as he looks back on this conversation and sees exactly how I destroyed him so thoroughly. Of course, I could get this horrifically wrong, and ruin the situation, but with the data I had, I thought the heavy-handed approach I used would be the best one. But it is a very real possibility that I could regret my approach on this one. Oh well, no more time to dwell; I have to get ready. I check my watch, seeing that I have twenty minutes to eat a proper breakfast, as I rejoin Neville and begin to eat with gusto in preparation for my upcoming day out.

* * *

"You may begin, Mr. Potter," The Ministry employee in charge of overseeing my test declares. This is the beginning of the sixth test I've taken today, my third NEWT. At least when they decided upon my testing schedule, they kept the OWL and NEWT portion together for each subject. It works out a lot simpler for me simply because I can stay focused on one general topic for a long period of time. I'm already done with Muggle Studies, Divination, and Herbology, and now comes the History of Magic portion.

This one will be an absolute breeze. With Occlumency and Riddle's memories, I have access to many times over the amount of knowledge the test asks for on goblin rebellions, wizarding innovations, magical discoveries, and so on. And it looks like this portion of the test focuses solely on goblin rebellions and wizard-magical creature relations. How counterproductive that the wizarding history portion of the course only comes in NEWT years, which no one ever signs up for, because it just means more time with Binns.

This is the test I have the highest hopes for. You see, if you manage to score in the top five of highest test scores ever recorded, either nationally or internationally, then you will be rewarded. By rewarded, I mean the Ministry automatically pick up the bill for the rest of your time at school, if the scores comes on your OWL's, or you receive five hundred galleons, if it's the NEWT's. And I think I'm a sure-in to place in the top five; after all, most people who take this test don't have access to seventy years of experience and memory when dealing with History. I might even have a shot at the number one spot.

Since the 1920's, the ICW keeps test scores on file so they can compare schools on their academic merits. It's how a school like Hogwarts can bill itself as "The Finest School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" because test wise, the school generally excels in most areas. Granted international comparisons meant very little during World War II, because the ICW fell apart, but still, test scores dating back to their introduction in the late 1600's are still recorded there, these scores having been submitted by individual ministries. But, since the end of the First World War, as an international cooperation measure, I suppose, the international scholarship I mentioned was created. So, if I do rank, I can receive free tuition, and perhaps even some monetary compensation.

Well, considering that I'm pretty sure my Gringotts accounts aren't in order, and Voldemort looms on the horizon, I need capital. Cash. Mullah. Dough. I need monetary assets to properly fight Riddle, and my financial house is not in order. Not paying for the rest of my time in Hogwarts, or perhaps even receiving an award from the ICW- it won't right the ship overnight, but it will allow me more options. More options meaning: potions ingredients, hired wands, better equipment, hired wands, people on my payroll which could also fall under the category of hired wands… oh, and hired wands. Seriously, if I can muster the resources, I'll put out a hit on Voldemort and let every hired wand crazy enough to accept the job waste his time while I look for that rare, one-of-a-kind, never before thought of superpower I possess that will help put him down. And on that note, I have a test to take.

Three hours later, and it's getting close to supper time, but I'm finally finished with all these bloody tests. Or at least, the ones we arranged for. Oh, and I'm calling it: I'm at least getting a Hogwarts scholarship out of the History of Magic Exam. But either way, I'm tired, I'm irritated, and I'm still not close to done. Next up: getting my apparition license and a legilimency permit.

Well, at least it wasn't too hard. If you know the ins and outs, then apparition is really pretty easy- especially for an Occlumens. Have I mentioned how much I bloody love being an Occlumens today? Anyway, what generally does people in with apparition is the occasional lapse in concentration. Some people just can't focus enough to perform it even under normal, non-strenuous circumstances, so when they try it, body parts get left behind. This in turn makes the art seem more difficult than it really is-though it's still incredibly unpleasant either way. Actually, the unpleasantness factor alone would make a Portkey or a broomstick seem like a better way to travel, even if they are much, much slower. Anyway, by contrast, the legilimency permit was much trickier to obtain, thanks to my favorite among favorites: bureaucracy.

I might have mentioned that the Ministry likes its bureaucracy, and I wasn't lying. I spent one hour today filling out forms and presenting various forms of Identification and signing waivers and agreeing to this and that before I even got to take my tests. Trying to register myself as a member of a restricted art like legilimency is worse, much worse.

For starters, the grey haired old lady with the boring attire and the perpetual bored look fixed on her face who was assigned to me wanted the usual: registration, contractual agreements, and waivers and disclosures. Then came the blood quill as I signed document after document certifying that I would follow the guidelines; I won't, but I need to pretend otherwise. Then it was a "character" test. Basically, the Ministry has an ethics quiz for a legilimency permit if you manage to get that far- what do you do in this situation? Is it legal to read so-and-so's mind at this time?- that I basically had to answer "Wash my hands and leave it to the Ministry" to every time. Then, once that is done, I have to prove I am actually capable of using legilimency, so I have to scan the surface thoughts of the lady opposite me, whose mind unsurprisingly told me that she was incredibly bored with the entire thing. And then finally, finally, after jumping through thousands of flaming hoops, I receive a license that prohibits me from ever using legilimency in a plausible scenario. It's the Ministry, go figure. But having the license means I could use the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing and work my way around all the restrictions, which is better than having to answer uncomfortable questions about my legilimency. The mere act of having the license means I face a minor fine if my accidental legilimency gets noticed, rather than a major fine and time in Azkaban, which is somehow reason enough to sit through the whole inane process.

So I'm done with the tests, and I'm pretty sure I have across the board O's- thank you Tom Riddle, you sick bloodthirsty, knowledge-hording psychopath- and I'm done with my licensing issues. Which leaves me the task of forging contacts here. Or at least, getting one set of eyes and ears inside the Ministry. The problem is that I just don't have enough information to tell who would be valuable or who would be a liability beyond ex-Death Eaters. That leaves me with only two possible candidates, ones that I know well, and that I know would be useful: Amelia Bones and Cornelius Fudge.

Considering I'm planning to sue Fudge for all he's worth and cripple his political career, he probably wouldn't be willing to help me. But Amelia Bones, having lost her brother Edgar during the last war, would be sympathetic, she does sit in a useful position of power, and she is, currently, neutral. Plus, I can only hope that her niece Susan has mentioned me in a positive light in her letters a few times. 'Hope' really is a four-letter word. But I think I can make that all work.

Another ride on the elevator and I'm walking to the reception desk in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At least this receptionist doesn't look old, bitter, or disinterested- rather, she's a pretty blonde, probably relatively fresh out of Hogwarts. I clear my throat, which causes her to look up.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asks in a polite, professional voice. Despite her youth, she apparently takes this job seriously, which may make this more difficult if she is particularly observant or vigilant.

"Good afternoon, Mam'. I would like to see Madam Amelia Bones regarding an inaccurate charge of underage magic," I reply in a tone to match her own.

She gives me a look as if to say "Are you serious?" Perhaps she doesn't recognize me, or perhaps she doesn't care. "I apologize sir, but Madam Bones is unavailable. If you would like to make an appointment and come back at a later time, then I can certainly-"

"Sarah, can you hand me another pile of surveillance request forms?" Interrupts an auror who has just entered the room from the door on the other side, through which the cubicles and offices are located. I turn slightly and look at him to see a man I know from Riddle's memories: Rufus Scrimgeour. His appearance has not changed much; the same mane of untamed tawny brown hair, though now flecked with grey, the same keen yellow eyes, though he now apparently wears glasses, and the same stride and posture.

Scrimgeour is a familiar face, but not one I know very well. He was a Ministry veteran from the war, one who frequently staved off or drove back lower ranked and mid-level Death Eater, though the one time he dueled an inner circle member, he had to be bailed out, and he still can't walk properly. But then again, Evan Rosier was a right bastard and I'm really not shocked that Scrimgeour would have a hard time with him. Even though I know he is a veteran auror, I have no idea of his leanings, his politics, his competence as an administrator… the only things I know for sure are that he keeps a watch on the comings and goings at the reception desk, that he's cunning, a pretty good actor, and that he definitely knows who I am. How do I know this? The Ministry uses a paper airplane mailing system- why would he personally come and get forms when he could just mail a request for them?

Scrimgeour turns and pretends to spot me. He gasps in surprise, but I'm not fooled; like I said, he's a good actor. "Harry Potter! It is an honor!"

The receptionist whips her head around to stare at me. Thank you Rufus, thank you. You're lucky the office is empty or you might have ruined everything for me. I really didn't want to draw attention to the fact that I'm trying to meet with the new head of the DMLE- that's how uncomfortable rumors start. Uncomfortable rumors like I'm trying to compete with Lucius Malfoy in the "buy off public officials" game.

I hold out my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Auror Scrimgeour," I answer politely, making sure not to betray any of the annoyance I just felt.

Scrimgeour takes my hand and shakes it firmly. "Likewise Mr. Potter. Out of curiosity, have we met?" Okay, he is sharp- he picked up on the fact that I know his name without an introduction. I have to watch slips like that.

I smile calmly. "I've read certain accounts from the last war, sir, one of which had your picture. You look like you haven't aged more than a few days," I answer without hesitation. I'm Harry Potter, and it seems plausible that I'd look into the last war, right? I hope.

Thankfully, he buys it… and the flattery. "Certainly, Mr. Potter. May I ask what you are doing here today?"

I shrug. "I'm trying to arrange a meeting or appointment with Madam Bones in regard to an incorrect charge of underage magic," I answer without hesitation.

Scrimgeour smiles, and I get the sense that he has an agenda. "If you would like, Mr. Potter, we can step into my office, and I'll see what I can do for you," he offers. Definetly an agenda.

I smile. "And you are certain you are in a position of power adequate enough to deal with my complaint?" I ask lightly. Oh, Fuck. You see, this is the kind of verbal diarrhea that's twice nearly ruined my plans. Perhaps I should ask Dumbledore for suggestions on how to suppress my Harry Potter instincts in Tom Riddle personality situations. Saying things like that- it shows I'm ignorant, it shows I have occasional bouts of Ron Weasley Foot-in-Mouth syndrome, and it shows my petty side. Never good things to show off in public.

Scrimgeour laughs my remark off- I apparently haven't buggered this up yet. "As the Head of the Auror Office, I certainly hope so," He replies.

"Then by all means," I answer easily. Phew! Too close! Though maybe its better this way; now he won't smell a set-up despite my knowing his name. Well, here's hoping Scrimgeour is a sympathetic ear. He certainly has the potential to be a useful ally, but we need to agree in our viewpoints or any level of cooperation will be very limited.

He leads me through the windy corridor of DMLE cubicles until finally he arrives outside a highly polished wooden door which he quickly unlocks. I take a seat in the chair across from him as he sits behind his desk. It's a very neat and well organized office, with papers neatly stacked off to the sides of his desk, and a few moving pictures of Scrimgeour with other people- one with him and Alastor Moody, another with him, and what looks like his wife. Scrimgeour waves his wand at the door, and it shuts- I assume he put up various privacy spells as well. Let the games begin.

"So what can I do for you this afternoon, Mr. Potter," He begins pleasantly.

I smile, here's my opening. "I'm here today, Auror Scrimgeour, in regards to an incorrect charge of underage magic from two summers ago," I respond.

"What is the problem?" He asks in a crisp, professional tone.

"A house-elf mimicked my magical signature and then used it to perform a hovering charm?" I respond politely.

"I assume you have proof?" He fires back quickly.

"If you like, I can summon the elf in question and let you interrogate him to your satisfaction," I offer.

He frowns, "You can summon the elf?" I realize what he's thinking- I have an elf in my employ that got me in trouble with the Ministry? What the…? Yeah, from his point of view, something would smell fishy here.

"As the elf is part of the Hogwarts staff because he's since been freed, which will make sense after you hear his story, and I am the Headmaster's apprentice, I do have that power, sir," I explain casually. Buy it- please buy it.

"Then by all means, please summon him," Scrimgeour declares, leaning back in his chair.

I do summon Dobby, and Scrimgeour spends fifteen painful minutes interrogating him. Painful because Dobby's high-pitched voice, vocabulary mauling explanations, and declarations of "Harry Potter, sir" are not quite the remedy I needed for the headache I have developed. But Scrimgeour seems to understand and sympathize with the story Dobby gives; that he was only trying to protect "Harry Potter, sir" from "Bad Malfoy Masters." Well, at least I'm pretty sure Lucius has not succeeded in buying him off, because he seemed willing and able to believe that Malfoy was involved in shady and potentially deadly business like this. Finally, Scrimgeour seems satisfied and I'm allowed to send Dobby back to Hogwarts.

"He seemed… enthusiastic," Scrimgeour comments brightly. Oh sure, laugh at mys expense, why don't you?

"Yes, that's Dobby for you," I mutter. He's so cheery and optimistic it can't help to make me grumpy.

"Anyway, I am satisfied with the evidence presented to me to officially dismiss the matter and wipe your record clean," Scrimgeour declares. "Though I do have a few additional questions, if you'll indulge me?"

Okay, maybe my half-assed plan for how to gain a Ministry ally did have some merit. "Certainly, Auror Scrimgeour."

"Now now, no need for formalities," Scrimgeour chides me gently. Good, he finally seems interested in what I have to say. "This is completely off the record, but I did feel these questions are… pertinent to my investigation," He finishes delicately. "First, I understand why the elf saw fit to warn you of danger knowing the basics of what transpired. Can you perhaps reveal some details of the danger the elf saw coming from his masters?"

"Well, sir-"

"-Rufus-"

"Okay, Rufus," I'll take that as a good sign. "I will give you the clearest overview I can. The Malfoys, or at least Lucius Malfoy-though, as I'm sure you know, the evidence has since vanished- slipped a dark artifact into Hogwarts. I was warned on my birthday last year by the elf in question, who hinted that there was to be a danger at Hogwarts in the coming year, and I should not return because of it. Now, at the time, with no knowledge of what was to come, I dismissed it; maybe it was a practical joke, or perhaps a plot against- I had no reason to believe Dobby after he had gotten me into trouble with my Uncle. Dobby afterwards made another attempt to prevent me from reaching Hogwarts, though that failed as well. Even if I was wary, no sign of in my first weeks back indicated that Dobby spoke falsely, whether he knew it or not.

However, the events of Halloween, involving the mysterious petrifaction of the caretakers cat, and my being lured to the area of the attack, might have convinced me otherwise if Dobby's warning hadn't been put out of mind. Dobby made another attempt to send me home, one which resulted in a trip to the hospital wing. In the meantime, another attack occurred, this time involving a student, one who wished to visit me there in the middle of the night.

"Naturally, with two attacks occurring near my person, suspicion shifted towards me. Matters weren't helped by the revelation of my ability to speak parseltongue at the first and only meeting of Gilderoy Lockhart's poorly engineered Dueling Club." Scrimgeour flinches slightly at the mention of the wizarding ability commonly associated with the darker segments among the population. "Matters also weren't helped by a misunderstanding involving a student who thought I was commanding a snake to attack them, and then my being found standing over his body along with the Gryffindor ghost.

"However, the Headmaster saw fit to invite me to his office to formally question me; the result of which cleared me from any suspected wrongdoing on the part of the staff. Of course, convincing my peers of my innocence was another matter entirely, one finally accomplished when a known associate of mine was attacked and petrified along with another student. Only then, did the student body decide that I was telling the truth.

Of course, by that time, I had begun an investigation into the attacks and Dobby's warnings, and though I followed several leads, none of them bore fruit. However, the abduction of Miss Ginevra Weasley near the end of the year prompted a series of realizations that led me to the culprit. During which I encountered the artifact that served as the focal point of the Malfoy's plot. You see, the artifact was specifically enchanted by Lord Voldemort," Scrimgeour's eyebrows rise, but at least he doesn't gasp, "To release a foul-tempered thousand year old basilisk upon the students of Hogwarts." Okay, he did just gasp. "Through chance and fortune, the monster was slain by yours truly, and the artifact destroyed. The elf revealed formally that Mr. Malfoy has an association with the events described, and for that, it was released." I pause and stare at Scrimgeour.

"I… see," he says after a moment of silent contemplation. "How exactly does a thousand year old basilisk end up not carving a swathe of destruction through a school of defenseless schoolchildren?" He asks curiously.

I shrug. "I have no idea as to how such a thing was achieved by the artifact."

"What was this… artifact?" Scrimgeour asks abruptly.

"It was a diary, written in and enchanted by the Dark Lord under his former and uncommonly known name. The diary had partial sentience, as it was able to communicate and influence any user to the point where they could then be used as a vessel to set loose the basilisk," I answer without hesitation. But my answer is so casual and easily given that some with Scrimgeour's merits could know that there's more I wish to say.

"You are leaving something out!" Scrimgeour barks and perhaps he's relying on gut instinct. Either way, the man is good.

"I am," I confess honestly. I lean forward. "Have you heard of the expression, 'What you don't know can't hurt you?' If I tell you, then I guarantee you won't know how to respond, and it will make your world very complicated. I assure you, Dumbledore and I are doing our best to deal with the matter but-"

"Tell me please," Scrimgeour instructs gruffly. "Whatever it is, I can handle it."

I smile. "No you can't, but I'll tell you anyway." I recline. "The charms on the diary, the sentience in particular, are very… indicative. Such charms surely would have been the first to dissipate when Voldemort's collapse- just like the Imperious on many of Voldemort's victims. But the charms were still active."

"I don't follow," Scrimgeour says after several moments of chewing over what I've just said. "You're saying that this was more powerful magic cast by him then his widespread use of the Unforgivables, and yet-"

"Yes, but the Imperious was external. When his power broke, his control over the spell broke as well. The nature of the enchantments on the diary, however, was solely focused on him and his betterment." I pause dramatically. "A path to immortality."

"Excuse me?" Scrimgeour gulps in a high-pitched voice. "Are you saying-"

"The possession and vessel part I mentioned would over time be drained as a way to drain the magic, the soul; the life force, if you will, from a user of the artifact that would enable him to walk the land once more. It was destroyed, as I mentioned," I see relief flash across Scrimgeour's face, "But its continued existence leads to two uncomfortable conclusions:"

"The fact that the artifact continued to function means a connection between the Dark Lord and it was maintained, and its very existence also indicates that some of his experiments into immortality achieved at least partial success," I finish gravely.

Scrimgeour sits, staring at me blankly, trying to find the words, and failing, again and again. The silence reigns for a long time as he tries to come to terms with what I've just said. And then finally, fear, raw, ugly fear, makes its presence known to him.

"Y-you are certain?" He asks with a slight tremble in his voice.

"We are certain that the artifact would not function without the connection being maintained, but we aren't quite certain as to what has been done by him in regards to immortality," I answer. Or at least, I'm not sure- not even a dozen horcruxes should have been powerful enough to save him from his certain death, by my estimation. The possibility that he has done something else, that there is more to the game, something I am not seeing, continues to vex me. It's sad because I have his memories- I should know everything he's been up to, and I don't. But there are certain events that I am having trouble… interpreting. Scrimgeour is still having trouble coming to terms with my revelation. "Do you see why I was unwilling to elucidate?" I ask sadly.

"This… is… incredible!" He breathes. "He's really- we need to- What should we-"

"Calm Rufus. Do you accept that the evidence seems to indicate that he is still among the living, for whatever that's worth?" I ask seriously. He nods without hesitation. "Do you accept that he would like nothing more than to return to power and pick up destroying our society from where he left off?"

"I do," He answers solemnly. This wouldn't have worked if I weren't a credible source, if Dumbledore wasn't a credible source, if he wasn't already familiar with the events in question, and if Dobby hadn't corroborated my testimony. But it actually seems to have worked. Go figure… yeah me.

"Then please listen. I know I have no right to tell you what to do, but I would like to suggest a course of action. And that course of action is: do nothing." Rufus's eyes bulge. "Do nothing against him. If the information were to leak to certain parties, then perhaps the Dark Lord could find his way back to power with more haste. As it is, our projections of his return range from the immediate future to a cushion of five years."

"That's your most generous calculation? Merlin!" He mutters.

"Exactly right. And as I said, he may have already returned. Perhaps he used the recent diversion that came from my bout with the Dementors to engineer his resurrection, or maybe one or more of his 'former' servants took it as an opportunity to slip out of the country and rejoin their master," I explain. "Either way, even if we did somehow dodge the bullet this time around, he is on pace for a return in the near future. One that most likely can't be stopped no matter what due to our lack of resources and manpower, public and private support, and solid information.

Scrimgeour, having had the truth thrust in his face, chooses to go into man-of-action mode. "What are we to do about this?" He asks crisply.

"I hesitate to ask, but you are willing to stand with us?" I query neutrally.

Scrimgeour looks scandalized. "Of course I would, Mr. Potter! Why the-"

"I meant no disrespect, sir! I merely wished to solidify your resolve, because as you may know, our task is not an easy one," I answer pleasantly. "Our dear Minister's ear seems to be held by one Lucius Malfoy, after all, and both trying to delay his return and properly restructure ourselves in preparation will be trying. And with the esteemed Mr. Malfoy occupying that position, subtlety is the word of the hour."

"Now then, you, as the Head of this important department, need to enact preparations for the eventual war. That means taking obvious measures: weeding out incompetent or corrupt aurors, enforcing more rigorous standards, conducting studies to improve efficiency and battlefield performance, increasing recruitment, and so on. Additionally, you are our most important voice inside of the Ministry, and thus, in a perfect position to keep watch on Malfoy, Macnair, Rowle, Gibbon, Yaxley, and the like, while also advancing positions that will hopefully better prepare the Ministry for another outbreak of war," I explain. "Does that seem reasonable?"

Scrimgeour swallows and nods. "Yes, I understand. What will you and your mentor be doing in preparation?"

"Dumbledore will be the public face of this effort, drawing attention to signs that Voldemort's return is imminent, as well as keeping in contact with his wide range of acquaintances, such as his friends on the Wizengamot or in the ICW. He is our public diplomat and our political organizer."

"Meanwhile, I am still in training for the coming conflict. However, I am trying to organize our coalition, and perhaps facilitate dialogue with additional members of the Ministry. Perhaps you would be helpful enough to pass on information as to who would be approachable and useful in our endeavor. Additionally, as a public figure, I too can draw attention to the return of the dark, or, if need be, expend political capital in liberal doses to try and bolster the Ministry," I finish.

"How will I contact you?" He asks.

I consider that for a moment. "Do you have a piece of parchment?" I ask politely. Scrimgeour forks some over. I withdraw my wand and tap it against the parchment while muttering "_Proteus_." After the spell is done, I rip the parchment in half and slide a piece over.

"I know, it's not particularly elegant or subtle, but you can write on it, and I will receive messages. For the time being, that should suffice. If it becomes necessary, I'll find another way to communicate, but for now, keep it out of sight, and use it contact me if need be, and if you're sure you are alone," I answer. Scrimgeour looks quite impressed with my on-the fly solution.

"What are we to do when He finally returns?" asks Scrimgeour hesitantly. He almost looks like he doesn't want to know the answer.

"When he does return, the Ministry will be in disarray. I imagine Fudge will be quickly removed, and several candidates will emerge." I look him in the eye. "I am a fan of your work, Mr. Scrimgeour. Provided our preparations bear fruit, perhaps a law and order candidate with a decent record of service shall find his way into the office." My unsubtle hint at future endorsement puts a small smile on his face. "If, as I predict, Fudge is forced out upon Voldemort's return, then I would be quite happy to put your name forward as the man to represent us in those dark times. But again, now is not the time for damage control; rather it is the time to prepare and reinforce the foundation against the coming storm."

I stand abruptly and hold out my hand. "I want to thank you, Rufus, for your time and your willingness to understand, and here's to our future cooperation." Scrimgeour firmly shakes my hand as we look each other in the eye, mutually afraid of what is to come. "As I said, I'll be in contact, and I wish you good hunting in your quest to reinforce the Ministry.' I make my wave over to the door as he unseals it. "Have a nice day sir… and good luck." And with that, I depart, having partially fulfilled my objective, and knowing that I've placed my hope and the hope of the Ministry in capable hands.

I walk out of Gringotts in an incredibly foul mood. What do you know, it wasn't the bureaucrats that ruined my day, it was the bankers. Yeah, despite all the crap I went through at the Ministry- taking tests, signing forms, answering question- it was up to the goblins to make sure my day went to hell. As you might be able to guess, I just got a bit of really bad news at a really poor time.

Yeah, about my financial situation- well one word sums it up nicely: ARGH! I have just enough to make it through Hogwarts- school supplies and tuition- before I run out. The thing is, I have enough money to make it through Hogwarts, if barely, so I can't suddenly switch over to a scholarship, one like the Weasleys probably got to get their family through on, and there is very little in the way of financial opportunism I can engage in from here. Being Dumbledore's apprentice sure opens many doors for me, but in this regard, it strictly handcuffs me from engaging in anything that might later make me look bad, which also might make him look bad. It's all in the contract. Of course, the many benefits and obligations of the thing don't really kick in until my test results come in, because only then I could be seen as a worthy apprentice, and thus, it would be okay to use it once we're both sure this won't be a mistake… in the public's mind.

But like I said, I need money. Now I really hope that at least I did well enough on one of my tests to get that scholarship, because not having to pay for Hogwarts for the next four plus years- I've already paid for this year- means a lot more money in the bank. If I actually rank well enough on the NEWTs for further financial compensation, then I should be afloat for a while. Not comfortable. Not well off. Not possessing a War Chest large enough to help out significantly when Voldemort returns. Afloat.

Whether I'm in the clear or teetering on the brink of collapse, there are a few things I need to pick up in the Alley today. That super-awesome trunk with fifty compartments and infinite space that I can live in… oh wait, such a thing doesn't exist. And if it did, Lucius Malfoy would have bought all of them up already. The only way I could ever conceivably acquire one is to invent it for my own personal use, and really, I just do not have the time and resources to tinker and try and create one. The only person I think might have one is Alastor Moody, and I'm pretty sure he has some sort of dead-man switch on him that would make his trunk go up in a fiery inferno so I couldn't access it upon his death. Really, it's just a Moody thing; if you actually get to the point where you've taken him out, his chest, his house, and all his dark detectors should go up in flames. Like I said, if I really wanted a trunk like that, then I better be the one making it.

No, what I really need is two dozen or so notebooks- space for theoretical work and calculations, arithmancy and the like- a few packages worth of rune-carving equipment- which might hold me over until the new year-, a few dozen expensive potions ingredients- because Felix Felicis is a hell of an equalizer in combat-, some new potions-ingredients salvaging equipment- I still have a thousand-year old basilisk to strip clean- and depending on the corpse's condition, my financial problems may soon be over-, and to get my wand looked at, if Ollivanders is still open by the time I've bought all the rest. I guess I'm in for a rather busy night.

* * *

AN the 2nd: Well I hope you all enjoyed. I'm still sick, so I'm going to go now. Have a Nice Day/Night.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I apologize for the unexpected two-week hiatus. Things have been rather hectic around here, and all I can do is apologize. However, I'm back now, and I'm hoping this makes up for lost time. Thank you for reading and reviewing, and I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter Seven: All Eyes On Me

"Harry, can I talk to you for a second?" Neville asks timidly.

"Sure, Neville," I mutter. Damn, I'm still sleepy. Yeah, as you might imagine, my sleeping habits have been suffering for a while. Processing Voldemort's memories meant I have full access to them… in dream form. So by this point, I've been thoroughly desensitized. Watching Voldemort murder an endless number of people in dark and gruesome ways night after night just does not have the same emotional impact after a while. And I stopped waking up screaming in the middle of the night a week ago. I still feel for those people, of course, but I also accept the limits of my power, and changing all that I have seen is not a power I possess. And when I'm awake, the last thing I want on my mind is the nightly horrors I endure.

"Harry… what exactly is going on with you?" He continues.

I instinctively look around the dormitory, making sure it's empty. It's Saturday afternoon, so of course it's empty. But it never hurts to check. But just in case, I pull my wand and flick it twice, once to make sure it's just us, and a second time to put up a basic privacy ward. One of the many lessons I learned from Voldemort is that a privacy ward for a two-person conversation should only go as far as the area we occupy. Some morons might actually try and ward the room. However, seeing as it's a beautiful autumn day, of course the windows have been left open. So ward the room that way… and allow an outsider to listen in via the window. It sounds paranoid, it is paranoid, Moody probably has a similar rule… and not adhering to that rule at first nearly got Riddle offed in a pub in Greece.

"Could you be more specific, Neville?" I ask politely, pocketing my wand once more. Oh, what now? Fuck, if Neville's realized that something is going on with me then who else has? Ron? Okay, let's not get crazy here.

Neville falters slightly. "Er… you've been kind of groggy and tired all week, and you seem really stressed, and…"

Okay, I've heard enough. "Neville, of course I seem rather stressed and overworked; I am now in a position which leaves me with very little free time," I point out; hoping my allusion to my apprenticeship will end this conversation. Give me credit; it has worked in the past- though I've never tried that excuse on him.

"I know!" Neville hastily replies, holding up his hands reflexively. "But, er…" Neville stares at the floor. "Where do I fit in to your plans?" He mutters.

Oh. It's one of those conversations. As you might have guessed, I really haven't been around this week. At all. My schedule is roughly like this; sleep, quick breakfast, do some homework, hasty spell practice, class, break for more spell practice, more class, lunch, more practice, class, more class, dinner, lessons with Dumbledore, nightly training, midnight supper, finishing off the last of my homework, and finally, go to bed. Sometimes I really start dreading the point when I need to make time for Quidditch Practice. But as you can imagine, this schedule neglects friendships and contacts. And, for someone as cynical as Neville- a guy who's had every bad break possible- my neglecting him means that, well… conversations like this happen.

"Where do you fit into my plans?" I repeat slowly. I see Neville flinch; he must have been hoping I missed that statement. Okay, how to… oh, of course. The truth is my most valuable ally here.

I clap Neville on the shoulder, startling him. "Let's be honest Neville; I do have plans. And you do factor in. Make no mistake about that." I stare him right in the eye. "Unlike many of our peers however, I have… loftier aspirations."

I step back and turn to stare out the window. As I had hoped, Neville mimics my body language- good, I haven't lost him yet. If he did not copy my movements, then that would have signaled that I completely fucked this up, and that is not how I want to start my Saturday.

"First; I will assure you that I do have plans, and in a way, I am using you." My eyes flicker to the side as I see Neville's face flash with many varying emotions. "But before we go any further, I'll let you decide if mine is a noble pursuit."

I point outside towards the beautiful autumn day. "Lovely weather we're having, yes? A beautiful autumn day, with peaceful skies, and an endless cascade of golden leaves. Don't let it fool you; a storm is coming. Just look at these last two years." Neville's eyes widen.

"In my first year, a magical artifact attracted the likes of Tom Riddle himself to come swipe it, and last year, a gigantic basilisk roamed these halls and petrified the castle's residents. Sadly, _that_, was the calm before the storm." I turn and stare Neville in the eye once more. "Mr. Riddle is still out there. He is still among the living. And he is still searching for a way back." Fear. Raw, ugly fear. It is not an unusual expression in response to my proclamation, but it does illustrate that I've driven my point home. "I know this to be true. Dumbledore knows this to be true. And that is why I am acting the way I am."

I take a step towards Neville, who doesn't back up. "That is why I reached out to you, why I reached out to Colin, and why I…" I pause; he has no need to know of Scrimgeour. "He will return. A week, a month, a year, a decade; he will return. Knowing this, a coalition must be formed in preparation. And you are someone who can be counted on to do what is right. To fight the good fight. To understand the stakes."

"As you can imagine, I am working my arse off just trying to be a grade above useless for when he returns. Because he will come for me. He's done it in the past, and he will do so in the future. The reason why I made myself scarce this week. So that's what I'm working towards," I finish dramatically.

I lower my voice. "But where you come in- I need a deputy, a lieutenant, someone I can count on. You are my first choice." I don't think I actually need to describe the look of stunned shock on Neville's face; it is very easy to imagine, isn't it? "You aren't there now," I admit easily. "But the potential exists. So that's my interest. I am in this to stop Lord Voldemort and live the rest of my life without being weighed down by this particular chain. Do you think our interests are aligned, my friend?"

"Y-yes!" Neville squeaks. "He re-really- he is-"

"Yes," I assure him. "That's why I'm working like a maniac. That's why Dumbledore and I have formed this soon to be public alliance." I gesture once more to the beautiful autumn day whose likes I may never see again, if Voldemort has his way. "A storm is coming, Neville. Any day now, that storm might be here. And I have every intention of weathering that storm," I finish stoically as I retrieve my wand and remove the wards. I leave Neville standing there stunned with only that food for thought.

* * *

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I don't hear my footsteps echoing throughout the corridor. Rather, it's the incessant ticking of a clock, of time- valuable, precious, irreplaceable- slipping away. Because in the last week it hit me with the force of the Hogwarts Express; I am in a race against the clock. One I'm pretty sure that I am losing by a landslide.

This is the time I need to prepare. Because, when it comes down to it, is there any real security against Voldemort once he returns? Yes, there is: a huge spell arsenal, ample magical power, an insane amount of magical ritual use, mastery of several schools of magic, an army of followers, and Dumbledore diverting his attention for a while. That's what I would call a good start... and I'm not even close to being there. And now that I've gotten a lot of bullshit out of the way, the enormity of the problem has finally stuck home.

Illusions? They were a nice start. Household spells? Could come in handy. Occlumency? By all means, let's keep the pig-fucker out of my mind. Legilimency? Can I afford to say no? Those are all nice skills to have, but A. I'm not even close to being considered proficient, and B. that's all I have, aside from two years of basic schooling. Riddle can easily outclass me on all four fronts.

Am I feeling inadequate? Just a tad. But ignorance is bliss I suppose. And being ignorant of so many wonderful schools of magic: Warding, Runic Magic, Creating Spells, Wandless Magic, Ritualistic Magic, Familiar magic, Alchemy, Parselmagic, Healing magic, Enchanting, Battle magic, Soul magic, Necromancy, Elemental magic, the Dark Arts, Astrological Magic, Divination- and that is just naming a few; being ignorant of all that was much easier than standing by and realizing how little you know and can do with the most powerful force on the planet.

I'm going to state it point blank; magic is the most powerful force on the planet. If you tell a wizard precisely what magic can't do, they will go looking for a solution- and in many cases we've found them. Just look at all the schools of magic, all the things which magic can accomplish, and these are just things ordinary wizards and witches can do. Watch Dumbledore, or Lord Voldemort, in action and they can perform feats even wizards think are impossible. I can give the muggles a lot of credit for coming so far without it, but… any comparison leaves them looking vastly inferior. Except one.

Because muggles do not possess the potential for limitless power that can be used by a mere whim and a wave of a want- a power to destroy, control, summon storms, animate golems, and so on- then they can, potentially live in peace in a much superior way to wizards. With the power of magic, every wizard and witch is basically a walking army.

Why do you think the population of wizards and witches are so low as compared to muggles? Magic-users have access to better food, better healthcare, and better places of residence- they should have overrun the planet by this point, don't you think? Well, yeah, but wizards and witches have not learned to live in peace with each other. I mean the sheer amount of power an individual magic-user possesses, just makes compromise, or collective action, or any type of legitimate government rather difficult to implement. With constant wars- against goblins, against centaurs, against giants, against each other- either on an individual level or involving full-scale insurrection, is it any wonder that wizardkind is so divided and fragmented. Hell, the only way for the various Ministries to pass a new law is with an international treaty of some kind, guaranteeing mutual cooperation. Even that doesn't work.

That's why Dark Wizards like Grindlewald and Voldemort can rise up every fifty years like clockwork. Because the chaotic system of governance basically pits every wizard and witch against the rest of the world, and what Voldemort promises, is a perverse, twisted, form of unity. Of course, for his system of unity to work, he needs a target, something he can point to and declare "This is where we went wrong" and that's where the muggleborns come in. But that is also the reason why I can reach out to Rufus Scrimgeour; because he too, is yearning for a better way. Wizards have come a lot farther than muggles in every area, except one- we can't live together.

But it's this culture of personal idealism, with the promise of a better tomorrow, which could put me in such a powerful position. A young boy who survived against all odds, who has battled the forces of darkness since infancy, who now appears to be a remarkable wizard in his own right, would make for a particularly irresistible banner, in these increasingly troubled times. If I play my cards right. But do I have any cards to play? Well…

"Are you going to follow me for another few hallways or are you going to announce your presence, Blaise?" I call out. I'll take four cards, dealer.

"Give me a moment. I'm still making up my mind," He replies from a little ways back. I turn and watch him as he pretends to ponder. "Oh, all right, I'll announce my presence."

I lean nonchalantly against the wall. "What can I do for you, Mr. Zabini?" Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin in my year, with short black hair, dark skin, medium build, and a hell of a poker face. Considering his… interesting background, this should be a fun conversation.

Blaise glances around."Perhaps this isn't the ideal location," He suggests mildly.

I gesture at the door to my right. "Will this local suffice?"

Blaise walks over, opens the door, and glances inside the spare classroom. "Perfect," He mutters. He steps inside and takes a seat on one of the dusty chairs.

I follow him in, close the door, and flick my wand twice to ward the area where we will be sitting and chatting. The revealing charm and the basic privacy ward are the only two spells I can manage silently, but I do use them to great effect. Even someone with a poke face like Blaise can't help letting the mask crack for a moment to appreciate my talent in that area. Securing my wand once more, I take the seat opposite Blaise. "What can I do for you, Mr. Zabini?" I repeat calmly.

Blaise drops his usual poker face and grins slightly. "I want in," He announces immediately.

My response is to slightly raise my eyebrows. "I'm certain I have no idea what you are referring to."

Blaise's grin gets a little wider. "Oh, I think you do. These last few weeks, you've separated from your former best friends, allied with Dumbledore, surged to the top of all your classes… need I say more. It's quite obvious that there's something else going on. I want in."

I drop my poker face and smile. "You always were rather perceptive, Blaise. Indeed, there is something afoot. But before we go any further: sell it. What exactly do you bring to the table?"

Fuck. Another Cat-ate-the-Canary smile. "Good afternoon. I'm Blaise Zabini, the favorite son of the prestigious Zabini family. Members include my sister, also named Blaise, one of the world's top models, and my mother, Hestia Zabini… well, what more need be said about the "Siren of England?" I am a pure-blooded wizard hailing from a family that was formerly allied to the Notts, the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, and the Blacks. Oh, and I rank in the top twenty for students in our year, and I also have access to numerous connections, contacts, and scraps of useful information."

Well what else is there to do but put my hands together and clap? Because that was beautiful. Instead, I stroke my chin. "I see, but if I may sir, the Blacks are all but gone, the Parkinsons and Notts have been in decline for centuries, and, as you may have gathered from the outburst the other day, the Malfoy name is mud in my book."

Blaise's smile slips a tad. "That was just the tip of the iceberg. Besides…" He lowers his voice, "I assumed that you would be looking for more information concerning potential threats."

"Perhaps," I agree neutrally. "But perhaps we could put that aside for the time being and you could better explain that last part? Connections, Contacts, Information?"

I would swear to you that Blaise's eyes light up so that for a second they look like they're glowing. "I've noticed some very interesting occurrences with you, lately. After ditching Granger and Weasley, who should you begin associating with but Longbottom and Creevey." Blaise chuckles lightly. "Creevey? You must really be desperate. Either way, it doesn't take a genius to know that you are… recruiting." He reaches into his robe pocket and withdraws a piece of parchment. "I've also gotten my hands on this!" He gleefully passes it over. On the top part are my OWL and NEWT scores, which I haven't received yet, mind you. In fact, I was on my way to Dumbledore's office to see if they had come in yet before Blaise diverted my attention. But on the bottom part… is a record of my interaction with Scrimgeour- the kind of thing I was hoping to avoid!

Furious, I rip my eyes away from the parchment and glare at Blaise. "And how, did you come by this interesting tidbit?" I ask softly.

"One of the aurors saw you two walking through the halls. The information on its own is… suggestive. Your reaction, though, is even more so. Just a warning; my family knows. Which means the Malfoys, and the Notts, and so on, know as well. You'll want to be more careful in the future." Blaise drops his smile. "That's how I know that whatever you're doing; it's big. To form a coalition involving both Dumbledore and Scrimgeour-"

"How are you certain that this isn't all Dumbledore's idea and I'm just a front man?" I cut across rigidly.

Blaise shrugs. "Doesn't fit. Why drop the mask if you were just going to be pawn for one of his schemes? Where does the apprenticeship come in? Why are you actually meeting with Scrimgeour then, and not just opening dialogue on his behalf? No, the way I see it, things changed at the start of this year, and you've been slowly piquing interest and gathering allies. Like I said, I want in. And as you've seen, I have information, contacts, and connections. If you're recruiting allies, which you are, then I know exactly who you'll need for what."

Damn. He could be useful. He really could. Blaise is volunteering to be my own bastardized version of Lucius Malfoy. Of course, he has no idea what I'm up to, so that's a rather moot point, isn't it? But still, let's see where this goes. "And what do you imagine I have to offer, Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise once again smiles. "Fame, fortune, power, prosperity, security, and more than I could ever dream of," He responds airily.

I frown. "The problem is that what I'm doing is… risky." And now it's time to introduce Blaise to Dumbledore's best friend: the half-truth. "You see, the truth of the matter is that Dumbledore and I have recently become aware of the ascension of the dark once more. We're thinking there could be another war in the not-so-distant future," I remark offhandedly. At least I've phrased it in a way that wouldn't harm me too badly if he were to walk away right now. Besides, what is life without a little risk? I know, I know; longer.

Blaise's eyes widen. "Really! Then all this-"

"Yep. I'm now training feverishly to be ready for the return of those dark times. Our little alliance is a preparatory and precautionary measure. As is my alliance with Scrimgeour." I steel my voice slightly. "Do you know if anyone, be it in your house or elsewhere, has put the pieces together?"

"I can't be certain, of course," Blaise immediately replies. "My year-mates and housemates have access to the same information I used. On the other hand, your verbal butchering of Draco impressed a great many of them, and I can't imagine that they would have waited so long to make a move if they knew what I know."

"Good," I remark. "Understand that if this goes south, then what follows is…"

"Death, destruction, disownment, disembowelment, and basically losing everything?" Blaise suggests. "I understand the stakes, Potter. My family is full of fools. The lot of them are blind fools. Who haven't seen the way the wind is blowing." Blaise smiles. "I have the power to do this- to make this alliance. I refuse to let my family crumble just as the Notts and Parkinsons have."

I withdraw my wand. "You'll understand if I ask for your vow?" I ask with a hint of a smile. Blaise withdraws his wand in reply. We exchange oaths, a modified form of the unforgivable vow that only needs two-no bonder, no penalty of death-, where Blaise agrees to support me in my endeavors, take my plans silently to the grave, and do everything in his power to assist me in defeating the dark until such time that I release him from this oath. Finally, the flames from the vow die away, and I've gained another ally.

"So what is this threat?" Blaise asks curiously, now that he has sworn his loyalty.

"Who else but Lord Voldemort, Blaise?" I was expecting more shock than just his eyebrows rising, to tell you the truth.

"I can see we'll need to have a longer conversation," He mutters. "You're on your way to an appointment?" He asks. I nod swiftly. "All right, I'll contact you and we'll set-up a meeting later. I have some questions I need answered, and you need the information I have. I'll contact you, all right?"

"Fine, Blaise." I extend my arm and we firmly shake hands. "I'll keep a lookout. Keep safe and be careful."

"You too, Potter," He replies as he leaves the room. I withdraw my wand and take down the privacy ward before leaving the room to head to Dumbledore's office.

* * *

"Your scores are on the desk," Dumbledore mutters, not looking up from his paperwork, as I finally arrive in his office. Curiously, I snatch them, just to make sure Blaise's information was correct. Indeed it was.

_**ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS- SPECIAL EXAMINATION**_

_Pass Grades Fail Grades_

_Outstanding (O) Poor (P)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)_

_Acceptable (A) Troll (T)_

_**Harry James Potter has achieved:**_

_Divination - O_

_Herbology - O◦_

_History of Magic - O◦_

_Astronomy- O◦_

_Muggle Studies - O◦_

_**NASTILY EXHAUSTING WIZARDING TEST RESULTS- SPECIAL EXAMINATION**_

_Pass Grades Fail Grades_

_Outstanding (O) Poor (P)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)_

_Acceptable (A) Troll (T)_

_**Harry James Potter has achieved:**_

_Divination - O_

_Herbology - O_

_History of Magic - O◦_

_Astronomy- O◦_

_Muggle Studies - O◦_

◦Denotes a student has achieved the highest level of proficiency ever recorded by ICW records on the marked examination. Since a student has never before accumulated the grade multiple times, on either the OWLs or the NEWTs, the entirety of their remaining educational expenses are to be picked up by their School/Ministry, and they are to receive an education grant, as denoted by the ICW chapter on tests, per mark achieved, both NEWT and OWL.

I stare at it for a second or two, drinking it in once more. This… this was a result I could not have dreamed of, not at all. It's… perfect. 3,500 galleons and no more educational expenses- whatever that means- nicely resolve my money problems for the moment. Thankfully, that is just the tip of the iceberg.

"You understand what this means, of course," Dumbledore asks quietly as I continue to stare at my winning ticket. Without looking up, I nod. Yes, that means the apprenticeship now goes into effect! Perfect.

"Well, there is still one more hurdle, I am afraid," Dumbledore declares sadly. Wait, what? This wasn't part of the deal! Startled, I look up, to see Dumbledore's wand pointed right at my head. Breathing, previous easy, becomes incredibly difficult as I contemplate this unexpected turn of events. The legendary Albus Dumbledore is holding me at wand point- meaning that any move, any sudden move, and he could separate my head from my body- and everything I've achieved these past few weeks has suddenly gone up in flames. As would my body after he burns it, come to think of it.

"What do you want?" I whisper, my voice suddenly hoarse. Well, at least my body knows how incredibly fucked I am. How incredibly fucked am I? Well, Albus Dumbledore is pointing his wand at my head- holding rock steady, meaning no indecision- and I really don't see a way this can end well.

"What I want, Mr. Potter, is to know that we are doing this for the right reasons. To know that I am not simply replacing one Dark Lord with another," Dumbledore whispers with conviction.

Oh. Oohhh. "You aren't." I answer firmly, suddenly finding my voice. "I don't want power. I don't want to become like…" I trail off, suddenly realizing how hollow my argument sounds. Because the fact of the matter is that I do want power. Power to defend my friends- what friends? Power to protect- I have nothing to protect. Power to-

"I really am as bad as he is, aren't I?" I ask sadly, suddenly realizing what Dumbledore is trying to tell me.

"No, you're not." Dumbledore replies swiftly. "He would never have realized how far he had fallen, how perilous, lonely, and unrewarding the road he walked was. But this is something that needs to be addressed before we go any further. Are doing this for the right reasons?"

"I… want to beat him," I state with conviction. "I do. I know that much. He can't be allowed to live on after all the crimes he's committed, the blood he's spilt. That's what I know. That's all I know."

"Exactly Harry," Dumbledore interjects, "You know you want victory. Justice. To Survive. The problem is that you can't see past it. There is life without Voldemort, as unlikely as that possibility seems from this point in time. What comes after?"

Dumbledore sighs, and I briefly wonder if his sighs help him digest a quantity of aging potion, because he suddenly seems a lot older. "I never asked myself that in the run-up to my duel with Grindlewald. Yet suddenly there I was at the end of the war- Gellert was locked away, I was the most famous wizard in the world, and I returned home to praise, titles, accolades, and glory." He quietly mutters, "And no one knows how undeserved it was."

"I never thought of, never even contemplated the moment, when I would be free of that particular ghost. Free to face the rest of my life," Dumbledore admits. "It's a terrible thing, to suddenly face the world with so many possibilities, whilst standing on top of a pedestal, knowing that no matter which way you head, you're heading down. That your prime, your moment in the sun, has already come and gone, and that all you've accomplished will eventually fade away into the annuls of history. I had no idea what I wanted to do from that moment forward, now that my vow to my brother to stop Grindlewald's madness had been fulfilled. All I could think afterwards was 'Now what?'"

Dumbledore stares at me. "You haven't even considered the question, have you? It's never even crossed your mind," He states sadly.

"It seems like the odds are so against me," I mutter half-heartedly, knowing that there is no excuse to give up dreaming.

"Well, consider it now," Dumbledore declares. "You are hypothetically… let's say twenty, shall we? Voldemort's corpse lies underneath your foot as you bask in praise and adoration from the Wizarding World at large for once again stopping the darkness. What then?"

I sit, just staring at the tip of the wind still pointed right between my eyes. The office blurs away, as does the desk, the letter, Dumbledore. The wand tip is all I see, all I focus on. What do I want?

"I don't know," I admit after a few minutes of thought. "Maybe I'll retire from public life, and live the rest of it in seclusion. Maybe I'll use my popularity to run for Minister. Maybe I'll devote myself to advanced magical study. Maybe I'll settle down with a nice girl and raise a family. I just… don't know," I finish.

Dumbledore sighs. "That's a better answer than I could have given at the time. Alas, it is not good enough. I look at you Harry, and I see the potential for another Dark Lord- greater, and even more terrible than even Tom Riddle was. Even despite all you've been through, and the path that brought you to this point, you tread awfully close to the line of no return. Believe, I know; I walked that line as well at one point in my life," Dumbledore explains.

He leans forward, lowering his wand finally. "These people- the teachers, the staff, the students- they aren't tools. They're people- with their own hopes, their own dreams, their own fears, their own aspirations, and their own lives. It took me a while to understand that; there was a time when I thought they were all beneath me- that only a few select voices mattered. If I teach you anything in the coming months, I hope it is that lesson."

"The reason I bring this up now," He states, now properly stowing away his wand, "Is because I want to make sure that you are still in touch with the Harry Potter in you- the young, innocent, naïve, Harry Potter that has been a favorite student of mine these past two years. I have had cause to grow increasingly concerned- what with your termination of association with Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, and even your detachment from potential new friends, like Neville Longbottom. Just because Tom never understood the value of friends over followers- of people who would have your back to the ends of the earth willingly- doesn't mean you shouldn't either. Don't grow to be a tired old man, living alone, clinging to the last vestiges of his namesake, trying desperately to do some good in the world; to matter. Please Harry, don't become Tom Riddle, and above all… don't become me."

It is touching, it really is, that the Headmaster has gone out of his way to try and prevent such a great blunder on my part. Really. I'm not being sarcastic, as much as I'd like to be. There's something very real, and very scary, about the idea of ending up as Dumbledore. He's right, I don't want to be him- I really don't. And I don't want to be Tom Riddle. And, come to think of it, I don't want to be Severus Snape either. I don't want to be that kind of powerful wizard that makes it to a ripe old age, but is filled with regrets over all the things he could have done, and is just waiting to die alone, filled with as much regret as Snape and Dumbledore have.

No, that's not going to be my fate. I'm better than that. I'm better than Dumbledore. I'm better than Snape. And I'm sure as hell better than Riddle. I may have been changed, may have had my world completely transformed, but there is still an element of choice. I choose not to be them.

"Thank you, sir," I mutter warmly, still lost in thought.

Dumbledore smiles brightly, "You can not imagine how happy it makes me to know that I may have prevented one just like me from following the path to ruination on this day." Silence reigns for a moment. "Yet there is still the reality that our time grows short. So without further delay, let me explain what my plan is from this moment forward in regards to you.

The horcruxes- those still remaining- are obviously a priority, but, you are still the first and most important priority. As my apprentice, I have given you the right to conduct excursions off castle grounds whenever you feel it is necessary. However, I am now granting you the ability to skip classes." He surveys me over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Boy, this seems familiar. "There is very little in the way of mystery your classes can unravel that we can not. Therefore, your lessons, for the foreseeable future, shall be with me. With your normal class schedule suspended, we can progress more quickly on the important matters. Thus, you shall arrive here, every day, at 8:30, and we shall work to lunch. After lunch, for which I will give you two hours, return here, and we shall work until dinner. After dinner, the rest of the day is yours, though I would ask that you take care not to overexert yourself in using the time-turner. Hopefully, such drastic measures will not be required for long- perhaps until the Christmas holidays.

There is of course more. As you are now officially my apprentice- in the public's eye, I mean- your attendance is required at a great number of social events; those I choose to attend, of course. Get yourself some dress robes, Harry, you'll need them for the Minister's Ball."

"One step ahead of you, sir," I mutter.

"Oh, I had forgotten about your recent excursion to the Alley. Come to think of it, I never did ask you about that- did you get everything you needed?" Dumbledore queries curiously.

"Got the notebooks, the rune-carving equipment, some of the potions ingredients- others are on order-, you know from what I've done with the basilisk corpse that I bought things for animal rending, and I didn't get a chance to get my wand examined," I recite quickly. "Oh, and the dress robes you mentioned."

"Excellent. Now then, continuing on, once you progress far enough, I shall be calling on some of my old colleagues for specialized training. That is rather far off at this point, so there is no use dwelling on it. A notice, as we discussed, has already been sent to the Prophet, 'letting slip' your marks. Finally, your status as my apprentice gives you authority that can be akin- in the right circumstances- to something like my right-hand man. Use it wisely. Is everything I've said clear?"

"Yes, sir!" I answer.

"You already have your office and your house-elf; is there anything else you require?" He asks.

"Aside from getting my wand checked over?" He nods. "Nothing else- oh, wait. There is one thing I'm curious about." Dumbledore nods for me to continue. "Have the Flamels passed on yet?"

"Perenelle has- Nicolas has not," Dumbledore replies sadly.

"I am guessing that after what happened, he isn't exactly taking calls from you," I remark shrewdly. Dumbledore nods gently. "If I may- what is his opinion of me?"

"From the little he mentioned, he seems to see you as a naïve little boy, though a brace and valiant soul none-the-less, who was 'sadly the victim of my schemes.' The last bit is a direct quotation from him, the last time we spoke. Why?" He asks.

I shrug. "I was just wondering if my attendance might soon be required at a funeral, or perhaps a will reading. I had no idea as to his disposition towards you or me, so I wanted to find out," I explain casually.

"Despite the downturn in our relationship, we still do correspond. I am certain my attendance will be required at a funeral, which, as you bluntly put it, is not too far off. As for you and he… I have no idea. He did send a congratulatory letter once the news broke, but I do not know the ramifications." Dumbledore pauses. "Is there anything else, Harry?"

I shake my head. "No concerns pop into my mind."

"Excellent, then let's begin another fascinating lesson on the Mind Arts…"

* * *

I think that in the past few hours, I've learned more about the kind of man Dumbledore is than Tom Riddle could have ever imagined. In all the time the both of us had spent with him, neither of us had ever seen him filled with so much… regret, so much anguish towards the past. I guess that firmly settles the great debate over whether he truly is a wizard of the light or not. Because after him hearing speak like that, I just can't feel that threatened by him anymore, because I know, that despite how it looks, he is a person who truly thinks he has my best interests at heart. Whether he is right is another matter entirely, but knowing that he does indeed have a personal, an emotional stake in all of this really settles some qualms I had with going forward.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Harry?" Egads, it's the Big-Head Boy- the sky must be falling.

"Certainly Percy," I reply politely, and he quickly falls into stride beside me. "So what can I do for you?"

There's a flash of… something across his face. It seems to be a mixture of curiosity, opportunism, and hesitation. Okay, I think I know where this is headed, so I'll just say this: they come here, they all come here- How do all they find me?

"Okay, let me guess," I cut him off, "You- the young, ambitious, Headboy- are here to forge an alliance with me- Dumbledore's new apprentice. Am I close?"

Percy stares at me, rather stunned. "Yes," He mutters after a few seconds.

I turn and stare at him. "Let's put this conversation on hold, shall we, I have a meeting to get to. Collect your thoughts, and meet me back in the common room- if you're still interested." With that, I walk off, in a hurry by this point. That's because in the middle of my session with Dumbledore, I received an owl that with a note tied to its leg that read "Same place; 8:30." I'd rather not keep Blaise waiting, especially when he has access to intelligence I so desperately need.

"So you've come full circle, Harry," Blaise announces as I walk into the room. I stare at him, wondering exactly what I've gotten myself into. "Sorry," He mutters, "I just always wanted to say that."

"What do you have for me?" I ask, taking a seat opposite him and putting back up the privacy wards.

He withdraws several notebooks from his bag. "Everything you asked for," He replies.

"You keep them in easily-accessible notebooks?" I ask incredulously.

Blaise chuckles humorlessly. "Potter, if I wanted to keep these hidden from you, you'd never know where they were, or that they ever existed. Trust me, this has everything we'll need going forward."

"Fine," I mutter, pulling my chair close to look at what he has.

"Okay, shall we start with useful people in our year?" Blaise suggests. I nod, and he takes one of his notebooks and flips it open. "Okay, in Hufflepuff, we have Susan Bones."

"Not surprised she's there after her Aunt's recent promotion," I mutter.

"I hear you on that," He replies easily. "Thing is- she probably won't be very trusting. From what I've got on her and her Aunt, she's probably going to be the kind of person you won over by not pursuing, if you know what I mean."

"Long-term objective?" I ask.

"Long-term objective," He agrees. "The only other Hufflepuff we have on the list is Ernie Macmillan. Thing about Hufflepuff is- you win one over, you win them all over- domino effect. But winning that one is… difficult. That's where Ernie comes in. He's your way into Susan's good graces. He already likes you, from what I can tell, he has some rather useful connections," He pats the notebook gently, "And he isn't too much of a bother to be around."

"I'll take that into consideration, but I have to make sure they fit into the larger plan," I reply, glancing at the notebook.

"All right. I understand; just keep that in mind. Moving on, we have… the Ravenclaws," He smiles. "This is where we can win big. "First up is Anthony Goldstein. His father is a rather prominent solicitor, and he's a pretty decent student, but outstanding when it comes to using runes. It runs in the family. Your in will probably be engagement into scholarly enterprises- you are Dumbledore's apprentice-; you know how those Ravenclaws are," Blaise explains.

"Never really hung around much with Anthony- will we get along?" I ask, curiously.

Blaise shrugs. "Probably," He answers offhandedly. "Next is Padma Patil. Her family has rather strong connections back in India- primarily a potions exportation business. As you can imagine, that makes her a rather excellent student in the subject. Pretty good student in all the other subjects. Thing is," His eyes flick to me, "She's being groomed to take over the family business."

"How do you know that? Wait, how do you know all of that?" I ask curiously.

"My mother's been doing the same thing for years. How do you thing she figures out who the next "groom" will be?" Blaise replies. "However, this system is pretty good for other purposes- like keeping intelligence. And you never know when these otherwise unimportant snippets of information can lead you to a goldmine, right? As to the whole Patil thing, they did a lot of business with my deceased father a while back. Two fathers back," He clarifies.

"All right, continue," I declare tiredly.

"Okay, next up is Lisa Turpin. She and her sister are great with charms and curses. However her older sister, Elizabeth, has… issues, that may get in the way; that's why I'm focusing in on her. Thing about Lisa, and Padma for that matter, is that I really don't know a certified best approach yet. But I'm working on that," Blaise finishes hastily.

"As long as you're working hard," I answer. "Anyone else in Ravenclaw?"

"No one else particularly interesting," Blaise answers. "Moving on, we have Gryffindor. Granger is of course the first name on the list." He sees my look of disbelief. "She's clever. Everyone needs a mobile textbook," He shrugs. "The only other one worth mentioning, possibly, is Finnegan. Just because I needed a token Gryffindor. Oh, and Longbottom… whom you've already sunken your claws into."

"Let's move on, shall we?" I suggest delicately.

"Right!" Blaise agrees hastily. "Finally, we have Slytherin- the house I know best. Now, first up is this real charmer- suave guy, by the name of Zabini-"

"Blaise," I warn.

"Right, right," He says apologetically. "All right, first up is Theo Nott. He's also a bit of a wildcard, but as you'll see, he might be useful. Now, moving on to people I'm sure will be useful, there's Greengrass." I give him a look. "Not Astoria- Daphne. Look I know Astoria and you don't seem to get along-"

"That's putting it lightly" I mutter.

"-but the Greengrasses are one of those old families that everyone always tries to recruit for their special projects," Blaise explains.

"Also making them particularly hard to recruit," I point out.

"I know, but I'm just putting her name out there. There are three Slytherins who should be easy to recruit, and who all might be useful: Davis, Moon, and Bulstrode," He declares dramatically. I raise my eyebrow in response. "Look, Davis is a great student, who's only apparent failing in life is being born to muggles- or at least that's how the rest of the house sees it. Moon is in the same boat. The thing is, they stick together, and they both seem to be pretty good students. I know that personally, I'm one of the few people who studies with them. Did I mention Tracy is hot?" My eyebrow goes, if possible, even higher up on my forehead and I fix him with a withering glare. Seriously? Now? "And Millie- well, she is an okay student, but she's the kind of intimidating guard dog everyone of importance wants. Plus, having three more Slytherins, even if they aren't ranked that highly in the house hierarchy, opens a lot of doors."

"I'll take that under advisory," I reply. "Anyone in the Ministry?"

Blaise passes over his stack of notebooks. "We're nearly out of time here, and I still need some answers, so study that, and other potentially useful Hogwarts students, and we'll meet again soon."

"Fine Blaise, what would you like to know?" I ask, certain of what his line of questioning will be.

"Lord Voldemort?" He asks. Hey, look at that- someone else who doesn't fear the stupid name.

"Lord Voldemort. Last year especially was his handiwork," Blaise raises an eyebrow. "A magical artifact from his schooldays possessed one of the students here. I have since destroyed it. However, its continued existence and operation is rather telling," I explain casually.

Blaise gulps slightly. "Bugger. Can you give me a timeframe?"

"Okay, our timeframe spans from 'he's already back and operating out of the shadows' –admittedly unlikely at this point- to five years," I answer.

"Are you prepared?" Blaise asks worriedly.

"Goodness, no. But we're working on that. At the pace I'm working, I'm hoping to be ready in about three. Of course, you can see now that your job performance is directly tied to the chances that you'll make it out of this whole thing alive?" I ask rhetorically.

"Yeah, I can see that," Blaise mutters. "All right, since that is the case, I have a lot of work to do. I hope you won't mind if I take a… more active role in shaping this coalition, considering the circumstances?"

"Not at all. Thank you for your time Blaise. I'll be in touch," I say as I shake his hand. I walk out of the room with those notebooks secured in my bag.

* * *

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Percy," I apologize, as I take a seat opposite him in the corner of the common room.

"No problem, Harry," He replies politely. "So, have you given any thought to my request?"

"Percy," I sigh, "Why exactly do you think things ended with Ron? Because I wanted him cut out of the loop before danger once more reared its ugly head. Seeing as that is the case; why would I change my mind here?" I query curiously.

"I… I can be useful. I'm ready and willing. I understand the stakes!" That actually makes me laugh.

"Fine Percy. You're in," I reply easily.

"Really?" he asks with a voice full of hope.

"No." His face falls angrily. "Look, on the surface, I suppose we could come to terms, seeing as you seem to be a rather able wizard, but really, these past couple of years, we haven't interacted much. I'm pretty sure there's a lack of mutual trust and respect here. So before we come to any kind of arrangement, we need that. So here's what's going to happen: We'll have a test system. Tonight, I'm going to be taking a stroll. Now, that isn't a problem for me, because I have clearance, but I'm taking a friend along, and I'd rather they weren't hassled. So, you'll look the other way tonight, and then you ask me for a favor. We'll do that a few times, and then see where we stand with each other. Does that seem like a suitable arrangement for the time being?"

"It does," Percy agrees. "Have a nice night Harry," He says as he vacates his chair. Well that nicely solves my Head-Boy dilemma for the time being. Now it's time to go collect my lieutenant.

"Hello, Neville," I greet, back in the dormitory where I expected him to be. "Do you have tonight free?"

"Yeah," He answers quickly. Let's call this my final test of loyalty.

"Good, I was hoping we could hang together in my office," I explain casually.

"Now?" Neville asks curiously.

"Now." I pull out my Invisibility Cloak. "I can assure you that we won't get caught."

Neville stares at the cloak for a few seconds. "Fine," he agrees, walking towards me. I unfold the cloak and drape us around it. After I'm sure we're safe and hidden, I begin guiding us the seventh floor.

Twenty minutes later, we're standing right outside my door. I pull the cloak off and tuck it inside my robes while tapping the door with my wand and opening it. Neville follows me inside, and then I seal the door and throw up more privacy wards.

I reach behind my desk and pull out a couple of bottles of butterbeer- thanks for supplying me, Dobby. "Cheers," I say as I tilt the bottle back. "Now then, I thought we might have a little chat. I dropped a rather large bombshell in your lap this afternoon."

"It's okay, Harry," Neville replies quickly. "I understand. I-"

"I meant every word, Neville. I want your assistance on this one," I cut across.

Neville stares at me, completely dumbfounded. "Why? Why do you want- do you even think I can-"

"Greatness is a truly hard to define quality, isn't it? I see a lot of potential in you. Your performance has steadily picked up in class hasn't it? All it took was a new wand and a little attention, and I doubt the same could be said for anyone else in this castle. Considering who your parents were, such results are hardly surprising," I assure him. "Trust me Neville, you can be a great wizard. As I said earlier, you aren't there yet. But if things continue as they are, you will be."

"You really think so?" He asks quietly.

"I know so," I assure him. "What, did your Grandmother tell you otherwise?" I see him flinch, which tells me that I'm right on the money. "Why should you believe her Neville? Why?"

Neville doesn't look at me. Instead he starts muttering underneath his breath. I must confess, I didn't catch much of what he was saying except for the word "failure." Let the record note that that particular word was repeated several times.

"Don't listen to her, okay. She's bitter. Angry at life. Cruel circumstances have taken her son and daughter-in-law away from her, and what she wants more than anything is for things to go back to the way they were. She wants them back. But she can't have them back. Not yet anyway; let me assure you that I am working on that. But if you could become Frank, an exact mirror image so that its like they never left, then everything solves itself in her mind," I explain. "It's spotty reasoning, you don't need to tell me that, but it's the way things are. For as long as she desperately pains for her son to come back is as long as she'll never be able to accept you as your own person. That's just the way things are."

"Yeah. That's just the way things are," Neville repeats sadly, taking a giant gulp of butterbeer. "I just… wish- wish that-"

"I know, Neville. I know. 'For all the sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, "It might have been."' John Greenleaf Whittier. You can't change the past the way you want to, Neville. If such a thing were possible, there are many, many other people who would have beat you too it. We just have to move on," I console him.

He stares dejectedly at that bottle for a long moment. "All right," He finally says, looking me in the eye. "So what does moving on mean for me?"

"Getting ready for Voldemort's return," I answer easily. Neville doesn't even flinch this time- I'll take that as a cue to pat myself on the back. "There is some news on that front: first up, we have a few allies now. Dumbledore obviously, but also Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head Auror" Fuck it, he's supposed to be my deputy, my second in command. If I can't trust him, then there's no way in hell that I'm ever going to get past the roadblock that is Voldemort. "And a Slytherin in our year by the name of Blaise Zabini," Neville frowns upon learning that tidbit. "What's wrong?"

"His mother," Neville replies shortly. "My uncle Stan was her third husband," He explains.

"Ah, well, I can assure you, the rumors about her are true. Which is why he sought me out; if ever there was a boy who wanted to distance himself from his family, Blaise is him," I explain. "You understand of course that there is little being angry at him can do for you? And that there is little he can do while we have our hands full with the threat just over the horizon?"

"I understand," Neville replies curtly. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, it doesn't, but I'm pretty sure Blaise will be useful," I assure him.

"What is he doing for you, anyway?" Neville asks.

"He is… gathering Intel on people we may need at some point," I answer, withdrawing the notebooks he'd given me from my bag. "Here are some of the names he suggested we seek out," I tell him as I pass over the relevant notebook.

Neville flips through the pages for the next few minutes, as I finish off my butterbeer and pull out another. ""I suppose they all could be useful," Neville finally agrees. "I just don't like-"

"I know," I agree quickly. "However, the position we're in is one where some sacrifices- physical and moral- have to be made. I don't like this kind of headhunting, but I also don't like the idea of heading for an early grave because I was too proud to get my hands dirty. That is where we are, Neville."

"I know. Who are you going to go for first?" He asks quietly, still rather uncomfortable with my methods.

"Ernie would probably be the easiest, but I think I'll leave him until later. I was thinking either a 'Claw or another Snake," I explain.

"I'd prefer a 'Claw myself," Neville admits. "I think we could use another mind going forward, and seeing as Hermione isn't-"

"Not yet," I chide him. "I'll make peace with Hermione soon, but not yet. Trust me, the timing isn't right yet."

"That's nice to hear," Neville admits. "Still, I think we need a 'Claw onboard with the operation."

"All right, a 'Claw it is," I agree. "Any preference?"

Neville scans Blaise's notes. "Padma," he says finally.

"Done!" I declare, taking back the notebook. "So now that our business is concluded, how about a little leisure?" I ask, beckoning to the chessboard I keep on my bookcase. Neville nods and I summon it over, intent on wasting the rest of my night relaxing with my right-hand man.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. It has been a little longer than I would have liked, and the chapter a bit shorter than I would have liked, but here for you is this fic's latest installment. I don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you all enjoy. P.S. this chapter seems to be having some problems. It seems to come out, to both me and other people, all in italics. I'm working on it as we speak, and hope to have it resolved soon. If you have read this, and it's already resolved, then no worries and enjoy.

Chapter Eight: Face to Face

_One Month Later_

I dive to my right, behind a protruding rock, to avoid another volley of stunners. Damn, the old man can still pack quite a punch. "_Incendia Grex_," I mutter, hoping he will take the bait, as a pack of illusionary firebirds emit from my wand.

My hopes are dashed as I roll out of cover and see Dumbledore's wand trained on me. I flick my wand and think "_Fortis Aegis_," with all my might. It is one of the few spells I can do non-verbally; probably because I spent a week making sure I had that one down. Constant injury sure is a hell of an incentive. Sure enough, Dumbledore's Blasting Hex is stopped by the shield, and I live to fight another minute.

I scramble to my feet while Dumbledore flings spells wildly through the rubble. For this match, he's agreed not to use his Relativity abilities- the only reason I still have a small chance. Flicking my wand, I transform the rubble that issued from the impact of his blasting curse into a horde of squirrels. Another flick and they are now a horde of angry squirrels. One final flick, and standing in front of me is a horde of angry squirrels… that are covered in flames. Good enough- now go attack the crazy old man!

Dumbledore's response is a wave of his wand to conjure up a wall of water. Oh bugger. That cools off my squirrels, and prevents them from reaching him. I wave my wand, and turn my squirrels into dogs. Dumbledore responds with another flick of his wand, that transforms his water wall into a wall of flames. I just can't win, can I? Unless…

I slash my wand while shouting, "_Aqua Eructo_!" There, fire meet water. Dumbledore's wall disappears, and the ensuing steam gives me rather nice cover. Now I just-

One of Dumbledore's curses crashes into my right arm, breaking it. As I clench my arm and shout in pain, my wand slips out of my hand. Throwing myself on the ground, I grab my wand with my still working left hand, despite the incredible pain in my right arm. Merlin, it feels like that bludger from last year had another opportunity to go to work on it. The only reason Dumbledore hasn't finished me is because he's been offing my transfigured dogs right now.

Dumbledore appears in view again. With my whole body shaking from the pain in my arm, I raise my arm and shout, "_Fulminis_!" A white bolt of lightning issues forth, only to be met by another of Dumbledore's special shields. The lightning quickly dissipates, and Dumbledore's shield fades away. My last-ditch lightning attack finished, Dumbledore flicks his wand, and banishes me ten feet away, where I lie on my back, still shaking in pain.

Dumbledore stands over me impassively. "Good, my apprentice. But not good enough."

* * *

I stumble into my office and make a beeline for my potions cabinet. Pomphrey did a good job fixing up my arm, though there are still some painful twinges. But these kinds of twinges come naturally with having your arm broken and mended continually in a short period of time. Dumbledore is many things… generous on a battlefield is evidently not one of them. An attribute that is desirable in him at any other time but this one.

Let's see, where is that pain reliever? Polyjuice- no. Strengthening Solution- I don't think so. Maybe on the other shelf. And… Draught of Living Death- not exactly. Draught of Peace? Hey, I could use some peace! Oh, there it is, behind the Draught of Living Peace, and next to my one small bottle of Felix Felicis. I uncork the vial and swallow the contents. Ah, I already feel better.

There's a knock at my office door. Good timing. I place the vial back down- I'll get Snape to fill it later. Boy does it irk the greasy bastard to be my glorified potions brewer. Not exactly the place in life he imagined for himself after Voldemort's fall, if you know what I mean. Hey, we may be working together, but that does not mean I have to actually like the arsehole. Another knock. Patience Gents, patience. Done with the bottle, I walk over and admit Neville and Blaise.

"Good evening, gentlemen," I welcome as I take my seat behind my desk and pull out bottles of butterbeer and glasses. As per usual, they take the seats I left opposite me- Neville, as always, sits on the right. "Cheers," I lift up my glass and clink it with theirs.

"Cheers," Neville and Blaise say in return as they take a sip.

I withdraw the Prophet from my desk drawer. "Page 7, Blaise," I say, passing it over. Blaise quickly takes it and peruses the page I mentioned.

"Any luck with Padma yet?" Neville asks. This has been an ongoing routine for the last month: they join me after I train with Dumbledore, we have a drink (or five), and discuss my ongoing pursuits.

"Still nothing, Neville," I answer quickly. "Like I've said, we are friendly- okay, friendlier than we use to be-," Some comparison, "This is not something I'm pushing. Not with the amount of resistance I'm receiving." Let's just say that Padma is polite, cordial… and completely unwilling or interested to acquiesce to any proposition. It turns out that her and Astoria Greengrass are very good friends, and I unfortunately mucked things up with Astoria a while back.

Long story short: or as short as possible. Right after Dumbledore and I had come to terms a while back, Astoria approached me… about a possible alliance. Needless to say, I did not take an eleven-year old first-year, who I had never interacted with before, seriously. Besides, I figured if anyone was to act as a dealmaker or courier between me and the Greengrasses, it would be Daphne. Daphne, who is always at Pansy Parkinson's side, and therefore unlikely to have anything to do with me. So forgive me for not thinking much on that possibility. Anyway, Astoria approached me, I didn't take her seriously, with the result that she got frustrated and left. And that's putting that last bit mildly.

You see, the thing is, Daphne isn't the favorite. Rather, Astoria is the favorite daughter of the Greengrass family. Even before she put on the Sorting Hat, she had accumulated as much in the way of power and connections as Draco Malfoy ever possessed. Her family has basically inserted themselves as the middlemen for any and all importing and exporting of magical goods. Through the usual methods of bribery, coercion, and otherwise driving competitors out of business, they have accumulated a significant amount of Power and Influence. Power and influence that has currently stretched to encompass the likes of Tracy Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, Lilian Moon, Lisa Turpin, Theo Nott, Anthony Goldstein, and… Padma Patil. Right in my own backyard, too. Basically, everyone else useful in Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and even a few Hufflepuffs, fall under her domain. Because of the business transactions their own families conduct with hers. Thankfully, Gryffindor is untouched to her influence; it seems rather public knowledge that that house is where I hold serve. All of these other options are closed off to me after I mucked things up with Astoria, though. Hell, I'm kind of surprised that Blaise wasn't already in her grasp, but thank Merlin for small miracles.

If I were a paranoid person- okay, granted I already am- I would have thought Blaise was a spy working for her. He isn't, that I'm sure of. The Zabini's and the Greengrasses have a kind of family feud still ongoing from the early 1800's. Even if working with me is a palatable option, despite the potential stigma attached, working for her is definitely not. Of course, the fact that Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini are now rather close allies in the eyes of the school does not help my already poor relationship with Astoria Greengrass. Such is life, I guess.

"So what do we do now?" Neville asks. I'll say this, he really knows how to stay focused now that he's gotten his act semi-together and realizes what the stakes are.

"Blaise?" I ask curiously. He has been trying to find a work-around for the roadblock that is Astoria.

"Hang on," Blaise mutters, still reading over the article I pointed out.

"Well, Nev, the way I see it, if 'Claws and Snakes fall under her sway, we can either set up negotiations with her," Blaise makes a noise like an angry cat at that possibility, "Try and dislodge her from power, or concentrate elsewhere. Macmillan and Bones are still possibilities, and there are many other 'Puffs who could be useful. Or we could work on consolidating support in our own house."

Blaise finally tosses the paper aside. "We are not negotiating with her. Not now. Our position is too weak, Harry. You have a few Gryffindors and one Slytherin- she has two whole houses at her beck and call if she so chooses, and a decent amount of influence in a third one. Any terms that we could agree to would definitely not be favorable. We need to build up strength in our own domain." He pulls out a quick and starts jotting on the margins of one of the Prophet's articles. "The way I see it, we need powerful influences at our command. Bones, Macmillan, that upper year Diggory, Stebbins, and Smith. Having those five in your quarter means you have Hufflepuff. Macmillan will be easy to grab, Rory Stebbins is rather neutral, but he should be easy as well, and I think Diggory is more partial to you than Astoria. That's three right there. On the other hand, Bones doesn't want anything to do with anything political, and Smith supposedly hates you. Okay, really does hate you" Blaise sighs tiredly at my look. "Recruit Ernie, Rory, and Cedric, and we'll have a foothold in Hufflepuff to take it from there. In the meantime, Longbottom and I should be able to find a way to snag one of the two holdouts."

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" I mutter, as an idea pops into my head. "Smith… Smith- Zacharias Smith. Hezibah Smith. It could work…"

"Sorry, what?" Neville asks, completely confused.

"The Smith family was robbed nearly fifty years ago of two precious treasures, the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and the Locket of Salazar Slytherin," I explain. "Blaise! Would it be possible for you to approach Zacharias and tell him I know of his stolen treasures, and, upon my honor, I will do my best to recover them for him?" I ask, speculating wildly, as plans are made and destroyed in my mind.

"You know, that might work," Blaise mutters thoughtfully. "All right, I'll talk to him this week and see how he responds. What about Bones?"

I laugh bitterly. "The only way she'd support me is if I was dating her or something," I mutter. Blaise gets a glassy look in his eye, and I know what he's thinking. "No! Not going to happen, Blaise. No guarantee it would work, and if any theoretical relationship with her ever encountered problems, my hold on the house would dissipate."

Blaise shakes his head sadly. "I know, but it was worth thinking about. Hell, I had a whole argument ready to go about how dating her was the only way to stop the Dark Lord. Cruses, I guess it will just have to wait."

"Save it for another time," I reply. "All right, what about solidifying my place in Gryffindor?"

Blaise starts ticking things off on his fingers. "Well, you have the Headboy and the Weasley Twins. You also have Longbottom here. Who else could we need? Wood- too much of a Quidditch fanatic, he wouldn't care for our little games. McLaggen?"

"Nah, granted, he's in good with Rufus Scrimgeour, but he's also kind of an arsehole and a skirt-chaser. He's not the kind of guy we'd want hanging around our operation," I explain quietly.

Blaise goes back to calculating. "Granger is a good wand to have around, but she has no power. Hell, she alienates a lot of people with her demeanor, whether she means to or not." Blaise pauses for a second. "Could we use Pavarti as an angle to recruit her sister?" He poses.

"Don't Pavarti and Padma not get along?" Neville counters. Bit of a surprise really; this is generally his least favorite part of our operation. For obvious reasons, he finds this whole thing rather distasteful, and only begrudgingly goes along with it. Maybe he's coming to see my point of view. Or maybe I've finally finished corrupting him.

"Oh yeah, that's right," Blaise mutters. "If we had her, her sister would probably never come onboard." He pauses for a second. "Isn't it a bit sad that our ultimate objective is the Dark Lord's defeat, and yet we can't even figure out how to properly recruit other schoolchildren?"

Neville and I stop our thinking and stare at him. "Yeah, it really is, isn't it," I mutter. "But then again, anytime you have more than two people in a room, you have politics, and Voldemort isn't going to be defeated with a political coalition. Besides, just because we're having trouble with our peers does not mean I'm having trouble in the world at large."

"Take it from someone who was an outsider," Neville adds. "There is an outside to these school social circles, and it looks pretty gray and mangy. The problem is, everyone we're looking at is already rather comfortable in their present position, and wouldn't be willing to make a move or commit unless it seemed like a deal too good to pass up or too good to be true. And we aren't in the position to offer anyone anything like that."

"All right, how about one of the other Quidditch players?" Blaise suggests. I do like that about Blaise; he never wants to get bogged down in quagmires until he absolutely has to deal with them, which helps in situations like this. And hinders in many others…

"Like who?" I ask curiously.

"Bell or Johnson, maybe?" He wrinkles his nose slightly. "I don't like Spinnet."

"Didn't she turn you down flat when you asked her to Hogsmeade?" Neville pipes in.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute! You asked her to Hogsmeade?" I stare at Blaise. "What made you think that a fifth-year Gryffindor would ever be willing to go with a third-year Slytherin she didn't know beforehand?" I ask amusedly.

"Getting back on topic," Blaise announces loudly, "How about Bell? She has a massive crush on Potter here, it should work out." He throws me a rather triumphant grin.

"Wait, What?" I ask blankly. My companions burst into laughter.

"Seriously?" Neville asks. "You really didn't know that?"

"Know what?" I ask amidst their snickers.

"That Katie has a rather deep crush on you!" Blaise explains as he and Neville break out into laughter.

I let them have their fun for a few minutes. "Yes, yes, very amusing. Seriously though, this is rather important." They haven't stopped laughing yet. What was that about Blaise keeping on topic? "Gents. Gents. Gentlemen!" Finally they quiet down. A bit.

"Seriously though, she does have a huge crush on you," Blaise points out.

"That's nice, Blaise," I reply easily, trying to contain my frustration. "How does that get me Gryffindor House as a whole?"

"It doesn't. All right, here's what I'd say: continue doing what you've been doing for the past month with Creevey and Finnegan and the like. Help out a bit, be a friendly face, provide a friendly ear, go that extra mile for people- that's how the house unites solidly behind you," Blaise explains. "Unlike Hufflepuff, it isn't interconnected enough that having a certain group allied to you grants you effective control. Doing that should keep things tame in your court."

"I guess that's workable enough for now," I sigh.

* * *

"Why did he tell me to come here, Potter?" Zacharias Smith's voice sure has a cat's claws on a chalkboard quality to it. Maybe I should test that out; put him in a room with animals that don't like to be disturbed, and then let him start talking. It is in the name of science, after all…

I nod at Blaise, who nods slightly back at me, as I get up from my desk. "It has recently come to my attention that two valuable heirlooms, the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and the Locket of Salazar Slytherin, were stolen from your family nearly fifty years ago."

Zach nods towards Blaise. "He mentioned as much. What does this have to do with me?" He asks bitingly.

"I think I've come across their whereabouts," I explain gently.

That gets Smith's interest. "Where are they, Potter?"

I sigh. "What you need to understand, Zacharias, is that these priceless artifacts were stolen by the wizard who eventually styled himself Lord Voldemort." Well, that shut him up. Except for a small gasp, anyway. "Consequently, retrieval could be… difficult. One such artifact, for instance, seems to reside in the LeStrange Vault at Gringotts."

Smith's eyes go wide. "Shite! LeStranges!"

"There also seems to be a possibility that he cursed the objects," I explain sadly. Well, I'm laying out my cards on the table. "If so, disenchanting them could be tricky, and may even result in permanent damage."

"Can anything be done?" He asks dejectedly.

"Well, I can attempt to recover them, though it might take a while. Negotiations with Goblins are notoriously bureaucratic and sinister. Then, removing any and all curses will take a lot of time and effort, though I wouldn't want to even attempt such a thing without your say-so," I explain.

"You have it," he assures me. Maybe he doesn't hate me as much as I first thought.

"If all of that can be done, which, as I said, takes time, then you might, might, be reunited with your precious heirloom. The Cup, that is- the Locket would probably be even more heavily cursed, and that one I can almost guarantee can't be salvaged," I explain.

"But you'll try?" He asks.

"Certainly. If I succeed, both shall be returned back to your family," I assure him.

He stares at me. "There is no bloody way you are that altruistic."

"I'm not," I explain simply. "I would very much like to right the wrongs he committed. He did steal from your family and murder one of your own, and nothing can ever fix that. But I'd like to do my part."

"And what would you require of me?" He asks scathingly.

"Require? I require _nothing_ of you. I've noticed that you apparently dislike me deeply, and this is my attempt to make amends," I explain casually.

Zacharias glares at me. "You're right; I don't like you. You're an arsehole, Potter. You think you're so much better than me," he mutters.

"I could try and convince you I don't think poorly of you, but you would never believe me," I point out cautiously.

"That's true," he concedes. "Fine, what do you want?"

"Look Zach, I don't want anything. However, my position in that school is rather fragile. You are aware of my feud with Astoria Greengrass?" I ask cautiously.

"Potter, everyone in this school knows you and Astoria are at each other's throats!" Zach laughs. "Of course, the funny thing is, after we all learned that you didn't care at all about Malfoy and his hair-brained schemes, you opened the door for her."

I digest that tidbit rather sourly. I. helped. Her? Okay, can't afford to get bogged down. "True. Perhaps. Still, she apparently has Slytherin and Ravenclaw behind her. I have Gryffindor. I want your support in my attempt to grab Hufflepuff," I explain casually. Let's aly it all out for him so he knows the rules of the game.

"You want me to cross Astoria?" Zach asks incredulously.

"Zach, I'm Harry Potter. Whatever damage she can do, I can do neater and more efficiently. As an opening salvo. You really don't want to be on my bad side." That brings him up short. "I already have Macmillan and Stebbins behind me. But I do need your support as well."

Smith thinks for a moment. "Fine! I'll throw in my lot with you. In exchange, I want the Cup and, if possible, the Locket by the time you graduate. That shouldn't be too much of a challenge for you, should it?"

"Done! I'm so glad you could see reason, Mr. Smith," I declare as I shake his hand.

* * *

"What the hell is Relativity?" Blaise asks as I recount one of my training sessions in my office with Dumbledore a few days later.

"Have you ever had an inkling, a feeling, about where an object near you was, or what it was doing?" I ask him. He nods. "That's Relativity. Basically, it's a field of magic that seeks to examine the connection between magic and magic. Or wizards and magic. For instance, that's how Dumbledore could walk into a room and know exactly who was in the room and what they were doing."

"Wait, is he using it whenever his eyes twinkle?" Neville asks.

"Yeah. That's about the only indication that he's tapping into his Relativity abilities. He basically has the ability to reach out for the magical connection that exists between him and other enchanted objects or magical items, and tell what they're doing without seeing, hearing, or feeling them. For instance, if I were in here under my Invisibility Cloak, and Dumbledore walked in, he could use his abilities to tell where I was, and immediately walk over to me. The thing is, Wandless Magic is only possible with an understanding of the theories and applications of Relativity," I explain. "Or when you're a scared and confused little kid who simply wills things to happen- emotions are supposedly very important for getting wandless magic to work right initially." Not supposedly, they are- but I haven't delved too deeply in that, so I can shunt that information to the side.

"Interesting," Blaise mutters, apparently filing that tidbit away. He takes a sip of butterbeer. "So, I thought, just in the interest of posterity, I should inform you that Astoria tasked one of her lackeys with trying to steal me away. I said no, of course. But we might have to watch out for her," He pointed out.

"Considering she initially hated you more than me, that's really saying something," I mutter.

"Yeah," Neville agrees. "Four out of the Five Hufflepuffs needed? We mostly have that House, right?"

"Yeah, Zach is with us. Even if he is unwilling, Astoria can't make him a better offer. Ernie is firmly with us, as is Cedric. Even though his father has an inferiority complex when it concerns him and me. With Rory, I set him up in a business partnership with Fred and George Weasley, and that should keep him in our camp. As for Gryffindor-" I am cut off by Blaise.

"She's made inroads into the House," he informs me. He doesn't quite meet my eyes. "Granger."

I stare at him. This is the kind of thing that makes it understandable why Riddle always literally killed the messenger. "Seriously? She's gone over to Astoria?" What? But I thought- I think I just blew that call. Did Hermione really…?

"Yeah, a few 'Claws started studying with her in the library a few weeks ago- I told you about that-, and then she apparently met with her the other day," he informs me glumly. "Granger apparently accepted her offer. Even if it wasn't a tacit , it was one of the talking points they tried to use to entice me to their side."

My eyes hard. Fucking- "This. Means. War. I am going to hammer that bitch into the ground!" I growl angrily. "Nobody steps on my turf! Nobody!"

"Harry, calm down! You're starting to make the furniture shake!" Neville warns me, quite alarmed. He is right.

"Besides, think about it from her point of view. She's gone from two friends to none, and she's been absolutely stressed with a lot of class work. I don't want to be that guy, but you were kind of an arsehole to her," Blaise finishes quietly.

"Neville, Blaise, this can not stand!" I growl. "It doesn't matter that it's Hermione, she's been pushing me since she started here. Astoria has crossed a line."

"You crossed one first," Blaise counters. "Even though I never sided with her or Malfoy, I'm still in Slytherin, and thus, should be off-limits to you." He pauses. "Besides, you didn't support her at a moment when she could have really used it. Even though her squabble with Malfoy is about done…Wait- Malfoy!"

"What about him?" I ask, still ticked off.

"He's probably not happy with the situation either. Definitely not happy. Perhaps you and your cousin could find some common ground," He suggests.

A sinister smile crosses my face. "Yes, perhaps. Blaise, set up a meeting."

* * *

"I'm sure you're curious as to why I asked you here today," I begin, knowing that a meeting between myself and Draco is sure to be a tense one. Hell, he wasn't even willing to be in the room alone with me; Crabbe and Goyle are sitting next Draco while Blaise and Neville flank me.

"Let's get on with it," Draco mutters. Ungrateful brat.

"Fine. Try to bring a little civility into this relationship, and what do I get? Well fuck you. Here's the deal: we both hate Astoria Greengrass," Thankfully, Draco nods at that statement. "She's cut onto both our turfs. In a manner of weeks, you've gone from the Prince of Slytherin to just 'That Guy With His Daddy.'"

"Thanks to you," Draco interjects. "You humiliated me in public at the beginning of the year, Potter! You signaled to her that I could be dethroned!"

"Draco, you did everything you could to humiliate yourself except threatening me with your father. Again. Besides, if I'd known what a fucking pain in the arse she'd be, I would have done everything possible to solidify your position," I explain casually. "The throne was yours to keep. I'm offering you a second chance at getting it back.

"So what now?" He mutters angrily. "Why should I trust you anyway?"

"Draco, Draco, Draco." Well, really, you probably shouldn't. "You have no other choice. You don't trust me; I smash Astoria and leave you hanging in the balance. You ally with me here, and you get to reestablish yourself as the de facto leader of your house. This is the only way you get back that position of prestige and influence you once had," I answer with a grin. "As for me, I just want that fucking twerp crushed- clear." Draco nods. "Oh, and if you're getting any ideas about backstabbing me, know that I'll crush you even harder than I will her. Is that clear as well?" Another nod.

"So what's the plan?" He asks eagerly. Ah, greed. It is, for lack of a better word, good… for me.

"It's simple, but complex at the same time. You see, Greengrass is only capable as long as she can keep a good eye on me, and she remains in good stature in the school. Which is where you come in. I need you to intimidate, distract, annoy, and generally make a pest of yourself as much as you can in Slytherin. While that is ongoing, myself and my associates will be talking to the outlying groups she has in her grasp, and prying them away. If all goes as planned, by the end of next month, she will be marginalized, you will be back in power, and our partnership will be over. Do we have an accord?" I ask.

Draco nods, and, almost begrudgingly, holds out his hand. I shake it firmly, and he quickly signals his lackeys to leave the room.

Once they leave, Neville, who's been holding his tongue for the past few hours, finally erupts. "Malfoy! Harry, Malfoy? Have you lost your mind? You're asking Malfoy for help? You're allying with Malfoy?"

"I do have to agree with Neville here," Blaise pipes in. "Draco has not shown us any kind of capability that would indicate that he was the right person to approach in this matter."

"Gentlemen, you clearly aren't seeing the beauty of my plan here," I chuckle. Curious, Blaise and Malfoy lean closer. "All right, Malfoy is both the blind and the strategy. After all, I don't think she'll see this play coming because it appears to be a rather obvious feint."

"You see, there are only two things Malfoy seems capable of doing these days: making threats that rely on the intimidation factor of his father, and making a pest of himself. And that is precisely what I need him for. I want Draco to do what he does best, and make a pest of himself… towards Astoria. I even stated it quite clearly. The thing is, when he does make a pest of himself, who's attention will he attract, but Astoria? Even if she does believe him when he eventually says that he's acting on my orders, she'll probably consider it such a weak salvo that she won't respond. However, it does play Malfoy against Greengrass once again, and that is exactly what I want."

"This is where you come in Blaise. You are going to go in, and… escalate the conflict." His eyes widen in understanding and his jaw falls open as he begins to contemplate the ramifications of my plan. "Lead each of them to believe that the other is a real nuisance. Provide subtle aid to the losing side. Pick apart plans that could end their little slice of internal strife. The result will be a stressful climate in the house of Snakes, and one that will lead its members to seek… alternatives outside the nest. Especially as the two prominent factions come to blows."

"Wait, let me make sure I understand: you are basically pitting Malfoy against Greengrass?" Neville asks.

"Yup. Knowing Draco, and how invoking his Father is always his weapon of choice, letting him think he has significant support will prompt him to fight on, even though he can't possibly will," I explain with a smile.

"Then, Blaise will slip in and make the situation worse?" Neville clarifies.

"I want them coming to blows. Yes," I answer.

"While this is going on, we'll be eroding outside support, and basically using this whole thing as a smokescreen to declaw two potential opponents," Neville concludes, rather horrified by this point. "That's-"

"Genius," Blaise finishes for him. "Sheer genius, Longbottom. Look, shut up a second. You know Malfoy- he already wasn't going to take this lying down. You know Greengrass- she's a bloody pest who doesn't understand boundaries or when to stop. It is inevitable that they would have fought… and Draco would have lost rather quickly. Now, however, he's turned a simple conflict into total war, which solves his problems and ensures he never has to get his hands dirty."

"I don't like it," Neville declares flatly.

"I know you don't like it," I reply easily. "However, the stakes, the eventual ones, are a little too high to not head off potential threats like this one with as much ease and efficiency as possible."

"I'm pretty sure this is going to blow up in your face," Neville says.

"It could. It very well could," I acknowledge. "On the other hand, with two simple conversations, one with Draco, and one with Blaise, I have a potential solution for a huge thorn in my side. That is efficiency that just can't be beaten.

Neville sighs. "We'll see, Harry."

* * *

"Drink up, chaps," I mutter at our corner table in the Three Broomsticks. McGonagall tried to stop me from coming, but I used every trick in the book, including using the rules of my apprenticeship, in order to sidestep her. Perhaps she's just trying to be protective with the supposed threat of Black lurking around every corner. On the other hand, her glaring angrily at me from a barstool a few meters down is really not how I wanted to spend my afternoon. And it certainly isn't doing anything for our already terrible relationship. "How's Operation Divide and Conquer going Blaise?"

"Swimmingly, surprisingly enough. You were right; Draco is doing everything he can to be a pest now that he thinks you have his back. And, with a few carefully arranged diversions, they are at each other's throats," he replies. "And if we have our way, they will stay that way indefinitely."

I glance at Neville. "Still think this is the wrong move to make?"

He shrugs. "I have no clue, Harry. I just think a willingness to use these kinds of tactics can easily lead you astray."

"And I get it," I reply. My conscience is already warning me that this is a maneuver Tom Riddle would have liked a lot. As it has been for the past week. "But this is the easiest option to pursue at the moment." He's still not convinces. "Hey, Dumbledore was showing me the basics of transfiguring a golem today." Okay, that catches his interest. "Apparently, what you have to do-"

I pause, as something I can't believe I'm seeing catches my eye. There, walking towards me, with wind-tossed black hair, rather luxurious dress robes, and he trademark silver ring, is Astoria Greengrass. Blaise and Neville catch my distraction, and look around for the target. Sure enough, Astoria reaches me.

"Harry, could I have a moment of your time?" She asks sweetly. For the record, I hate her sugar-sweet voice.

"Of course, Ms. Greengrass. Can I buy you a drink?" I offer. This, I have to hear. And who am I to forget my manners, even in the company of such a person.

"No, no, that's okay. I just wanted to ask you a quick question. Draco, you know, your cousin," She just has a way of rubbing things in people's faces. "Has been annoying this past week." Can I just point out the ridiculousness of this conversation, and then add to it that it's with a first-year. I mean, how the hell did she slip into Hogsmead? No, no- poker face.

"Yes, Ms. Greengrass, I and my colleagues know first-hand how annoying my cousin can be. There seems to be no stopping him," I explain soberly. "My first two years do attest to that."

"Yes, well, he's been shouting his head off about an alliance between himself and-"

"Oh, that." I shake my head and clap Blaise on the shoulder. "Draco heard about our rather public… disagreement. He kept pestering Blaise for news," I drop my voice to a whisper, "Apparently, he positively can't stand you. Anyway, Blaise, as you can imagine, got tired of listening, and told him to bugger off and do something about whatever he was going on about. Blaise being my friend and all…" I trail off. "Sorry about this. If you like, I can tell him to shut up."

"No, no- I can handle that. I just wanted to make sure that dealing with him wouldn't create any hard feelings between us," Astoria answered, still with that sugary sweet tone.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what you wanted. Right. Sure. "No, no- I understand. Feel free to bring my cousin back to planet Earth. I'd actually be rather grateful if you could do so for me." There, take that bitch.

Astoria smiles thinly. "I'll keep that in mind. Have a nice day, Harry." And with that, she fades into the crowd. Damn, that actually looked kind of cool. No, no-poker face.

Blaise turns his head sharply. "Did she just-?"

"-Ask for permission to stomp Malfoy? Yes," I can barely contain the happiness in my tone.

"I don't get it," Neville mutters. I can barely hear him over the roaring crowd at this pub.

"It's simple, Neville. All the encouragement Draco needed was my say so. Astoria just learned that he 'isn't acting at my behest'," Anyone else would have missed the double meaning of my phrase. And all I needed her to do was fully commit. Sometimes, life just works out. "Now, she's going after him with her claws fully extended. Just what the doctor ordered." For me.

* * *

Stupid Halloween Feast. Why did it have to be tonight? After all, with the thrill of my victory, I forgot about my intention to head off the reservation and do some more shopping. Instead, my friends and I indulged in another batch of butterbeers. So, needing to get that shopping done today, mainly clothes and potions ingredients, I had to skip dinner. At least Ollivander took another look at my wand, so those problems might be over in the near future. Might. But damn, I hope the deserts are still out after I put these packages away.

I trudge through the halls, relatively bitter about my forgetfulness and timing. Even though I set up an appointment with Ollivander for next week to get this whole thing over and done with once and for all, it still doesn't quite seem to balance the scales. Wait, maybe… yes, the kitchens. I'll go to the kitchens- they'll still have a lot of the feast for me. And have the elves wait on me hand and foot. Such useful little buggers.

Feeling a bit more cheerful, I turn the last corner to Gryffindor tower… and stare at the back of a man, holding a knife, who is threatening the Fat Lady. Hmm, how odd. Timing… I apparently don't have it. Or maybe I do. How this plays out will answer that question, I guess.

"Don't want to…" I can't hear what he's muttering, "Give me entrance!" He shouts wildly, raising his knife. I withdraw my wand and stun him. As he silently crumples, I quickly turn my wand on the terrified portrait and confound it to forget this entire incident. Witnesses- they are bad in a case like this. For many reasons.

That done, I approach the deranged lunatic, and turn him over. Well I'll be… it's been a long time, Sirius. But why are you here? Let's have a little chat now- wait, wait. I flick my wand, and turn him into a tennis ball. Let's have a little talk in my office. Oh wait- I still have these blasted packages to put away. And there goes my dinner plans.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Sorry for the long delay. I was having some real trouble with the part after this, so I decided to split them up and publish this section on it's own. Again, sorry for the long delay, and I don't own Harry Potter.

Interlude: A Black Affair

"Good evening, Mr. Black." His shocked grey eyes meet my steady green. "Go on, take a sip." He notices the glass of butterbeer I've set out beside him on the small table next to the armchair he sits in. Hey, I'm many things that fall under the heading of "arsehole", but rude host will not be one of them. I set up the Room of Requirements for a quite comfortable chat with the man. Because him attacking the Fat Lady, even if she doesn't remember it… raises questions. One such being: what the hell are you doing? Or, have you lost your sense of direction? Because the Headmaster's office is the other way.

Numbly, he reaches out for the glass, and wolfs the contents down in one gulp. Maybe it's the wand I have pointed at him, and his lack of one. Or maybe he was just really thirsty; being out on the run and all that. Or maybe- "Ha-Harry?" He stares at me. "It-it is you, isn't it?" He asks in a gravelly voice.

"Yeah. I'm Harry Potter. And you're Sirius Black. Now then, I don't normally do this kind of thing, but I do have a few questions to ask you," I explain casually, taking a sip from my own glass. I was considering keeping him in tennis ball form and finding somebody to play a match with, but I really am curious. Something just doesn't feel right with this whole set of circumstances. And by not feel right, I mean: why is this fugitive trying to gain access to Gryffindor Towers? Is that really something one could expect from a notorious man on the run?

"Ar-aren't you going to kill me?" He asks, his voice emotionally dead. Not quite what I was expecting.

"No. Why would I want to do that?" I ask curiously. Hey, as far as I know, he's done nothing to me. Bring him back to Azkaban maybe, depending on his answers, but kill him?

"I… I killed you parents," He points out lamely. Can I take a moment to point out how warn and ragged he looks. Considering that, the fact that he recognizes me and can actually make conversation is nothing short of a bloody miracle. And, oh yeah, he holds himself responsible for my parents death. Even if he killed other, he doesn't deserve to carry guilt over that. Right, so let's rectify that, if only so I can sleep a little better at night.

I scoff. "No, you didn't. Peter Pettigrew was the one who sold them out to Lord Voldemort. To my knowledge, anyway," I finish neutrally. Maybe there is more to it, and this is a guy who would know. I really only have one side of the story; albeit in great detail. So just in case let's make sure that all my info is correct. It costs very little to verify, especially right now. Nothing but time, anyway, and that is something I do have to spare.

"But I- I as good as killed them," He mutters, his eyes looking dead. "I persuaded them- if only they hadn't listened-" Okay, nothing new there. Just guilt. And I think that says it all at this point. That he's lived with the guilt for thirteen years while being in the cold embrace of the dementors… well, it's a fate I wouldn't wish upon anyone.

"I really don't consider you trying to act in your best friend's interests, murder, Mr. Black," I interrupt gently. Thirteen years in Azkaban living with that guilt? And he is this sane? Quite remarkable, actually. It seems a damn shame that I have to send him back. Although… "However, I am very interested to know why you were threatening the Fat Lady with a knife."

"You- you don't think I killed them!" He finally realizes. It seems to take a bit of weight off of his shoulders, and that personally makes me feel pretty good. "But… but-"

"Why were you threatening the Fat Lady?" I cut across harshly. Guilt and guiltiness, stability and instability; it's all immaterial considering that he has shown rather violent tendencies in the past hour.

He blinks. "The rat," He finally mutters. "I need- the rat… you're in danger, and the rat- I needed to… Gryffindor Tower…," He starts muttering incoherently under his breath. Okay, forget what I said about being stable.

"The rat? What rat?" I ask politely. Perhaps Azkaban really has unhinged the man. It certainly seems that way. And he seemed so… normal, just a few minutes ago. But, ah yes, 'the rat', seems to have changed his demeanor.

"Peter Pettigrew," He replies immediately. Okay…

"It was my understanding that Mr. Pettigrew met his end by your hand," I reply neutrally. Well, not just my understanding; the DMLE's, the Headmaster's- basically everyone in the country.

"He escaped!" Sirius mutters harshly. "He escaped, and he left me holding the bag!"

Okay, on the one hand, he seems nuts. On the other hand… Peter Pettigrew escaping? Well, that sounds like something he'd do. So it is in character for the blasted rat. But still, this seems so absurd. Looks like another one more for Azkaban. "You seem to think that he is alive, and residing in Gryffindor tower." Or at least, he mentioned it once and tried to force entry there earlier tonight. "Now then, I don't know of any rats…" Hang on a tick. It just so happens that I do know of a rather annoying rat residing in Gryffindor tower, one who has chewed on my pillow multiple times. A little annoying rat that has been around since I've gotten here. And actually resided here before then; in the care of the Head Boy. But… no! …Could it be…?

_"-And Percy's old rat."_

_ "A common garden rat can't be expected to survive for so long."_ They can't. But a human? Thirteen years isn't quite so difficult, especially if one lives the life of a well-fed and cared for rat.

_ "I don't think Egypt agreed with him."_ He became ill right around the time Sirius Black had broken out. The rat, if this is him, would not have been pleased with that development. If he really is Peter, then… then…

Oh. Oh. Well… shit. Could it be? This changes everything… if he isn't leading me astray. "Let me get this straight: Peter Pettigrew escaped from you, and has been living as a rat for thirteen years, and he is currently residing in Gryffindor Tower?" I ask quietly. Oh, fuck. Could it be that the traitorous bastard has been living in close proximity to me in recent years? And if that's the case… is he aware of all the things I have been planning? Wait a second; he could be totally wrong.

Slowly, my words sink in and Sirius nods resolutely. A suspicion comes to me; since Peter is actually still alive, who has the blood of all those muggles on their hands? After all, one of the involved is a murderous Death Eater, and the other is enraged and emotionally unstable man. Or at least he was at the time. "What happened that day he confronted you?"

Sirius lets out a bark of laughter. With a sinking feeling, I think I've just gotten my answer. "I confronted him! I finally caught up with the bastard after he sold your parents out! But the rat yelled about how I had murdered Lily and James for the whole bloody street to hear and then stuck his wand behind his back and blew the thing apart. Then he cut off his bloody finger and fled like the animal he is! Damn Vermin!" He hisses lowly. It sounds… plausible. But I do need a little more evidence before I decide one way or the other. Good thing that evidence could be easy obtain. Could be… it seems to be the norm that I make things harder than they have to be.

"And how did you know of his whereabouts thirteen years later?" I ask calmly. Maybe he's really charismatic, but I think I actually believe him. Or at least he believes this story, and it isn't just a tale of woe to distract me. But there are still some important pieces missing from the story.

He thrusts his hand in his robe pocket and withdraws a weathered newspaper clipping. I take it carefully and stare. Ron sent me this very clipping. It's about the Weasleys winning the Daily Prophet Drawing. Happily posing for the camera in Egypt. And… on Ron's shoulder. Yeah, it seems like a shot in the dark- or at least it might have started this way- but… he may well be right. Certainly worth investigating.

"One final query: upon putting the pieces together, how did you escape?" Now this is something I really want to know. No telling when escaping from Dementors may be useful. Especially with the enemies I'm making. There is a part of me losing sleep at night over the fact that our lovely Minister may someday see the need to make me Azkaban's newest resident. Especially seeing as I may someday soon be crossing swords in the public forum.

He stares for a long time. "Dementors feed on positive emotion. Feeling responsible for your best friends deaths… is not positive." No, really? "I think that's how I kept my sanity. And when it all became too much, well…" He shifts into his animagus form- a Grim. Oh. Yeah, I did know that. Or at least, I was supposed to know that. "Once I saw that he was positioned to act should hints that his side was regaining power reach his ears, well…" He taps the newspaper clipping, and I pull it back and place it in my pocket, "I slipped through the bars in my animagus form and swam to freedom," He explains finally. "I've been on the run in this form ever since. It's… it's how I got past the dementors and into the castle tonight."

I nod, a bit distracted. Okay, I think I'm satisfied with the answers I've gotten, at least. "All right, Sirius. You are going to stay here for the time being. All right?" Sirius stares at me before nodding. "I'm going to go catch us a rat and gather a few relevant parties. Like the Headmaster; he needs to be brought into the loop. So stay here, please, and I'll be back soon" I instruct. He grudgingly nods. With a thought, I ask the room to get him a pitcher of butterbeer and some sandwiches, and thankfully it complies with my request. "Dig in, while I'm gone," He doesn't wait for my invitation before he starts diving into what's probably the first decent meal he's had in years. And with that, I leave the Room of Requirements to perform a few more errands. So much for a quiet and peaceful night.

* * *

I suppose barging into the Great Hall half way through dessert would attract notice. Significant notice. But I don't really give a damn at this point. I snuck back into the Tower and located a certain rat. An animagus revealer told me all I needed to know. The rat is now securely trapped in my pocket; try to transform bastard and experience death by fabric strangulation. Well, maybe it wouldn't be considered death by fabric… neither I nor Voldemort have ever offed someone in that manner. Not that that's likely in any case; my stunner will hopefully make sure of that. Finding my target, I stride purposefully towards the Headmaster and hand him a note; I wrote it to make sure this matter doesn't attract curious eyes. "Yourself and Professors Lupin and Snape are needed, sir." We lock eyes and I let free a memory of who I just encountered. That gets him moving. As for Lupin and Snape… well, I need people who can verify Sirius Black's story and identify an old schoolmate. Those two fit the bill rather well.

"Remus, Severus, with me," Dumbledore instructs as he quickly gets to his feet. "Lead on, Harry." Snape and Lupin follow his command with all haste and the four of us swiftly make our way out of the Great Hall and towards the Room of Requirement.

"So what is going on, Headmaster?" Lupin asks gently. I decide to be the one to provide an answer. Some might say it's not my place, but I actually know what's going on, and I find myself in the rather unique position of being an authority on such matters.

"I think this is something that has to be seen to be believed. Suffice it to say, Mr. Sirius Black is presently a guest of mine in the castle," I conclude. Three people turn to stare at me. Poor choice of words, Harry.

"I ran into Mr. Black this evening, and after a rather civil and enlightening discussion, I thought it would be prudent to fetch you and a certain acquaintance of yours. You'll understand in a few minutes," I conclude airily.

"You have Mr. Black secured?" Dumbledore asks quickly. I nod, and that's all he thinks he needs to know. "We'll take it from here, Harry."

"No, you won't." I reach into my pocket and pull out a certain rat-prisoner. "Recognize him Remus?" He shakes his head; he has no idea what's going on. "No? You used to go out on moonlight promenades once a month when you were in school. Surely you haven't forgotten him." Widening eyes. I think he gets it.

Remus stares at me, and then the rat. "Th-that's Peter?" He chokes out in disbelief. You ain't the only one, buddy. He continues staring at the rat in complete shock. Yep, he certainly gets it at this point.

"Peter?" Snape turns sharply, his fiercest glare on his face. "Peter, as in Peter Pettigrew?" I nod with a small, sad smile on my face. "You expect us to believe that the rat is…" Words can not describe the mix of fury and disgust on his face. Maybe it's the idea that it's not two but three of the troublemakers who used to torment him that still walk the Earth. No, he's not quite that petty. On the other hand, there is my first potion's class to consider…

"I used the Animagus Revealer. Even if this isn't Peter Pettigrew, this is an animagus that has spent several years inside the walls of Hogwarts. I think that alone is worthy of notice. So I figured that we should sort all of this out," I finish. "Now come on. We have an appointment with Mr. Black."

No more interruptions as I swiftly lead my companions to the seventh floor. They all stare at me as I begin pacing in front of the Room of Requirements. Stare at me like I've lost my mind, that is. Snape is about to ask what the hell is going on when I finish pacing and the door comes into view. I hold the door open and beckon them through.

"One rat as requested," I tell Sirius as I reenter the room with guests. "And I brought along a few familiar faces. People who I feel can contribute to tonight's discussion. Just to help smooth things along."

"You brought Snivellus along?" He asks, aghast. Snape turns an ugly shade of pale in response. Lupin is just staring at him. Oh yeah… they're longtime enemies, aren't they? Whoops, forgot that little detail. Or at least, I forgot how vehemently they hate each other, so much so that they meet up again for the first time in a decade and change, and all the enmity between them is magically remembered.

"Well, I needed another person who was familiar with Mr. Pettigrew. And I don't know which is worse; you using that stupid nickname you gave him, or his still being affected by it," I mutter. Two glares come my way. Diplomat Potter I ain't; more like International Incident Potter, come to think of it.

Dumbledore clears his throat. "While I'm sure you two would be delighted for the opportunity to grind axes once more, we have more pressing problems. Like a potential Death Eater hiding in this school," He mutters archly.

I toss the unconscious rat to him. "See for yourself." He withdraws his wand, and with a flick, it confirms that the rat is indeed an animagus to all assembled. "Like I said, at very least there's an animagus hidden in your school." Another flick, and the rat sprouts upwards and outwards, and in its place is the unconscious form of Peter Pettigrew. Beside me, Lupin and Snape do a double-take, and begins glancing from Sirius to Peter. "Well, I guess this qualifies as a reunion of sorts."

Snape continues to stare from Sirius to Peter. "How exactly did the rat survive!" He asks furiously.

I step in for the explanation. I seem to be doing this a lot, lately. "Quite simple. Mr. Black switched his place as Secret Keeper with Mr. Pettigrew, who had long since defected to Lord Voldemort." I'm mostly explaining this for Lupin's benefit; deep down, Snape probably already knows but has forgotten. "Seeing that the Secret Keeper sold my parents out, his best friends, he then pursued the man in a haze of revenge. Unfortunately, Mr. Pettigrew was apparently able to outmaneuver him. Mr. Black claims that Mr. Pettigrew is the man responsible for the deaths of the muggles on that fateful day. Now, I'm not quite sure I believe it, but on the other hand, I'm more inclined to trust him than the man with the Dark Mark." Good timing too, as that's the moment where Dumbledore rolls up his sleeve and sees the Voldemort's brand. It certainly seems to confirm the web of conspiracy that I've been spinning.

"P-Peter?" Remus asks uncertainly, staring at the mark. He looks from Sirius to Peter to Sirius again. "So… they switched?" He mutters finally. "And he… he sold them out?" He concludes. "And… oh."

"My thoughts exactly. The question now is: what do we do next?" I ask, staring from Death Eater to fugitive. "After all, we've caught a bona fide Death Eater, and we have fugitive who's apparently innocent of his crimes."

"While Mr. Pettigrew's appearance does raise questions, I think that we should not so readily dismiss Mr. Black's part," Snape hisses. "For example, how could he possibly escape Azkaban with no outside aid?"

"He explained it to me, and the answer is quite simple." Once again, all eyes on me. "Dementors feed on happy emotions. Knowing that you are innocent is not a happy emotion by any stretch. He says it enabled him to keep his sanity, clinging to that unhappy emotion. As a result, he could still use magic… still transform." Remus' eyes widen in understanding. "He could transform back into his animagus form. And that's also how he gained access to the castle tonight, how he slipped past the Dementors. And when Fudge handed him the newspaper, and he saw the man responsible," I hand Snape the newspaper clipping Sirius gave me earlier, "He knew it was time. Granted, it does seem like a shot in the dark, but we do have proof," I point out quietly.

Snape continues looking from Marauder to Marauder before he spits at Peter in disgust. "Sirius!" Remus chokes quietly. "I'm so-" I tune out the reunion as Snape and I walk over to examine Peter.

"It's him, Headmaster?" The bat asks quietly. He already knows; I doubt he could ever forget Peter Pettigrew. But he must be wondering if this could somehow be a trick; someone disguised as him. Or at least that's what I hope he's thinking, because anything else might suggest his sanity has taken a leap off the deep end.

"Oh yes," He replies neutrally. "While there is of course more to the story, I do have to agree that Sirius Black appears to be innocent." He sees the look on his Potion's Professor's face. "Of course I'm not referring to his conduct towards you. But now the question is, of course, what do we do with such evidence?"

"Turn them over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and wash our hands of this," Snape growls immediately. Probably because the longer he's around them, the more awful memories that they manage to forcibly drag to the surface.

"I hate to disagree, but I must. Peter Pettigrew is widely remembered as a hero. If he suddenly reappears, what do you think the public's reaction would be?" I counter immediately. Snape glares at me; angry at anything that could potentially lengthen his already unpleasant experience. "However… however, if we hand Pettigrew off to the Aurors, with the whole, we caught a Death Eater line, I think that would work better."

"I'm not certain that will work, Harry. The problem is that the Mark is not indicative enough," Dumbledore explains quietly. What is he… oh. The thing is, Voldemort not only marked his followers, he sometimes used the mark as a substitute for the Imperious; to better enforce his will. After all, he couldn't control every wizard on the island? Thing is, there is a certified connection between the Mark and the Imperious. It's an excuse other Death Eaters have used to get their cases dismissed in the past.

"I know what you're talking about, but if we emphasize the situation; the sneaking around, the illegal animagus form, the Dark Mark, then it might be enough. Especially if he doesn't know about the apparent loophole," I mutter quietly. "In any case, I vote we send him to the DMLE."

"Potter makes a valid point. I do believe this case would be strong enough to stick," Snape agrees. Wow, we agree on something? Or maybe it's the fact that my suggestion raps things up rather quickly. The apocalypse is just over the horizon. "However, what of Mr. Black?"

"Simple. We keep him here," I reply. They both stare at me like I'm insane. "No. Seriously. He can stay in this room- food, shelter, and we can keep an eye on him. I don't there's any better alternative." Well, I think I just lost Snape's approval.

Dumbledore clears his throat. "We should leave this matter for later. For now, we have to turn Mr. Pettigrew over to the DMLE with all due haste. Come, Severus, Harry. We'll let them catch up," He says as he turns and leave. Snape and I quickly follow. Our work is apparently never done.

* * *

"-Could you repeat that again?" The hard-nosed auror asks the Headmaster as I watch on. My kingdom for a bowl of popcorn; Dumbledore really is a phenomenal actor. And he is in rare form tonight.

"As I said, Harry," Four sets of eyes swivel to me, "Discovered that this rat was an animagus after he came back from his day out. He was in the process of checking out his improved wand, and according to him, the charm he used identified it as one. He then stunned it and brought it to me. After myself and a few of the Professors checked it over, we concluded that he was correct, and so we contacted you afterwards." He clears his throat. "In the meantime, we transformed him back and searched the suspect over." He lifted up the arm. "We found this," He says, pointing at the Dark Mark, "And… well," He points at him, "He's supposed to be dead."

"Excuse me?" Rufus asks, seemingly certain that he misheard. "Did you just say this person is supposed to be dead?" Even if he's supposed to be in my camp, this is a hard story to swallow.

"Yes," He replies strongly. "This is Peter Pettigrew."

Scrimgeour does a double-take. "What?" He shakes his head, and clears his throat. Hey, at least having friends in high places is good for something; like smoothing this investigation. "And you're certain?"

"Professor's Snape and Lupin, who were school acquaintances, testified as to his identity," Dumbledore adds swiftly, handing him two prepared and signed statements. "Having been Headmaster during his time here, and having interacted with the man outside of Hogwarts, I can say that it does appear to be him." He looks dejected for a second; part of his act, I'm sure, "Which makes it all the more troubling that the Dark Mark appears on his arm, and that he has been hiding out in my school for a long time." An admission of failure no one would ever like to make.

Scrimgeour walks over and examines the still unconscious man's arm. "I agree." He glances back at his colleagues. "Gents, these fishy circumstances require us to take him in for questioning. Secure the suspect."

His auror comrades quickly restrain Pettigrew with a number of charms, and after they're done, they physically lift him to the fireplace to Floo back to headquarters. Once they leave, Dumbledore turns to me, a small smile gracing his face. "Well, Harry, I do believe that was enough entertainment for one night. Rest up; there is much to be done tomorrow." And as I turn to leave, he says one last thing; one last morsel for thought. "And I daresay that you're Godfather would very much like an opportunity to reconnect with you. He deserves that much." I nod as I walk out of the room, still wrapping my head around the night's events. What a weird night.


End file.
